Skydancing
by sivvussa
Summary: Daine and Numair travel across Tortall with a group of players to investigating rumours of a coup in the remote mountains. Their simple plan is destroyed when they reach Fort Salydis and find that the mysterious Lady will only trade information for dangerous tricks… and the more deadly, the better. D/N
1. Chapter 1: Rope

Skydancing

A Tortall Fanfiction by Sivvus

Blurb: Daine and Numair travel across Tortall with a group of players to investigating rumours of a coup in the remote mountains. Their simple plan is destroyed when they reach Fort Salydis and find that the mysterious Lady Atheris will only trade information for dangerous tricks… and the more deadly, the better. D/N

Please read and review! I update quicker if I know people are reading. ;-)

Chapter 1: Rope

The coin fell to the floor, spinning merrily. Daine cursed. The clattering sound was almost lost under the music and chatter in the hall, but it was still conspicuous enough to be embarrassing. She didn't look up when she knelt to pick up the coin, but her voice rang out clearly.

"You can stop smirking, too. Just because you can make it look so easy."

"It really is just a matter of practice." Numair tried not to sound smug and failed. His own coin glinted as he spun it across his knuckles and then disappeared neatly into his palm. The girl pulled a face at him and sat back down, dropping her own coin on the table and watching it roll away.

"I don't think I'll get the hang of it." She said, shrugging. "It's not important. I don't need to show off."

Numair opened his mouth to retort, and then stopped when someone cleared their throat loudly. The hall was noisy, full of people who weren't quite sure why they'd been summoned there in the middle of the warm May day, and the throat-clearer sounded quite hoarse before he had their attention. He wore the uniform of a herald, but in this weather the sleeves were rolled up in a rather undignified manner.

"My Lords and Ladies, please may I have your attention?" He shouted eventually, silencing the whisperers in the corners. There were a few laughs, making him redden. "King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, in honour of the start of summer, have invited you here to see a wonderful display of acrobats, players and illusionists. They have just finished setting up their display in the palace garden. If you would accompany me..." He was drowned out by the sudden surge of chatter, laughing and the clatter of benches as people began to move towards the garden. Clutching his hat as if he would lose it in the fray, he made his way to the edge of the crowd to catch his breath.

The garden was decorated with ribbons and streamers, and a canopy had been set up under the taller apple trees that bordered it. There were chairs under it for the more refined nobles, but many of them sat on the grass, laughing and not minding the stains it would leave on their clothes. Instead of a single stage, the players had set up two, at diagonal angles to each other with one corner just touching. The space in the middle was left bare of wooden boards, and a rope was suspended above it in between two poles.

"This is unusual," Numair said, taking the scene in with a glance. "Why invite a troop here now? They're usually just here at festivals."

"Ah, you've caught me out." The cheerful voice was definitely Jonathan's, as was the rather irritating hand which slapped the mage's shoulders. Numair reminded himself that it was improper to glare at a king before you've bowed to him, and promptly did both. Jon acknowledged the greeting with a grin and nodded to Daine, then waved a vague hand at the stage. "Watch the show. When it's finished, stay here. I need to talk to you both." Just as rapidly as he'd appeared he melted back into the crowd, and then re-emerged under the canopy to sit down regally and raise a hand, indicating the players should begin.

"If he wanted to talk to us, why didn't he just... talk to us?" Daine whispered, ignoring the warning looks from the nearby crowd at the noise.

"If _I_ had the power to get a circus to play on a whim, then I would start all my conversations like this, too." The man whispered back. Daine smiled at the idea as the performance began in earnest.

The wooden boards held mock battles, recitals of verse and melodramatic drama. Jugglers walked through the crowds, pulling apples and eggs from people's ears and making them vanish into thin air, only to reappear in someone else's belt purse. The crowd gasped as the acrobats somersaulted across the rope, and laughed at a troop of performing collies who danced around another dog who was dressed as a sheep. The pack argued over who was going to herd it, nipping at each other and leaping over each other in elaborate routines, until the sheep got tired of this and chased the entire pack from the stage. The dogs spent the second half of the performance sneaking around the garden and through the crowd until they gathered around Daine, who greeted them all and let the pack sit with them in the shade. She took the sheep costume off the last dog when it panted in the sunshine, impressed at how gently the ties held the fleece onto the collie's back. She'd seen much crueller costumes.

When the show finished, to rapturous applause, the dogs sped back onto the stage as one to take their own bow, tongues lolling. The people watching laughed, applauded again, and gradually began to leave.

"That was excellent," Numair said, climbing to his feet. Daine agreed, and then realised she was still carrying the sheep costume. When she looked around for someone to return it to, she couldn't even see the stage through the throng of people. She guessed that Jonathan would have a similar problem finding them... at least, for a while. It wasn't worth staying here, then. She shouldered the heavy fleece and set off through the crowd, calling to the dogs to ask who the costume belonged to. They helpfully called back the sheep-dog's name.

_I know __that! _She replied, _I meant: which human? _

_It doesn't matter. _They said idly, less interested now that they could return to their own homes and sleep in the shade. Daine sighed and reached the stage, looking for the nearest free player. They all seemed to have vanished, too.

"If this is another trick," she said out loud, "It's a really annoying one."

"Tricks are but illusions, noble lady." The voice was so rich and affected that Daine had to stop herself from giggling when she turned around to see the speaker. It was one of the players who had recited in the show: a venerable man, whose beard seemed more silver than white. He peered at her narrowly, nose scrunched up as if he was near-sighted. Daine realised that he was trying to pull a cunning face when he carried on speaking, "Coins are less fleeting, wouldn't you agree?"

Daine scratched her nose awkwardly with her free hand. "So you're saying they're looking for people to pay them?"

"I would never say something so crass. However true it might be, noble lady." He added. "I'm the circus master, and I am called Grasmar. Who were you searching for?"

"Um." Daine held out the fleece, wondering if he was genuinely short sighted. "I was looking for... well, whoever this belongs to."

He waved a hand. "One of the feline costumes? Fear not, maiden, for with great alacrity will I summon the lord of the wardrobe to dispose of it!"

"Making friends, Daine?" Jonathan sauntered over, hands tucked into his belt like a farmer. He grinned and gestured for Grasmar to straighten up- the circus master had descended into a bow so elaborate that parts of his costume were still dancing in the air. If anything, the player looked annoyed when he straightened up, clearly sizing up this king and finding him wanting. The line between the man's eyes vanished when Jonathan winked at him, prompting a surprised laugh.

"Your majesty," Grasmar's voice was suddenly a lot less pompous, and he ducked his head constantly as if trying to fight off the urge to bow again. "I received your communication and am here, with my friends, brothers, brethren and trusted colleagues, to respond to your most confiding command."

"Yes, er… very good." The king scratched his head briefly, looking confused. "Well, this is Miss Sarrasri, who I wrote to you about, and Master Salmalin is… somewhere." He looked around, not seeing Numair in the milling throng, and sighed. "Daine, please will you go and find him? I have to talk to Master Gletdale to confirm a few things, anyway. We'll be here."

_Confirm what? _Daine thought. She was irritated by all this secrecy. But she didn't say anything out loud, but smiled and left. As she walked away she could hear Grasmar commenting on her shocking rudeness of not bowing to the king before leaving, and smothered a giggle. It seemed that the sort of king people paid money to watch was nothing like the real-life example!

She didn't have a clue how to find Numair, either. The crowds were slowly dispersing, so she wandered through them absent-mindedly and just waited for them to leave. The grass was slowly turning to mud underfoot, and some of the more delicate ladies were starting to complain about the state of their shoes, so it wouldn't be long before the garden was empty. She was thinking about calling the dogs to her again when raised voices pulled her from her thoughts.

There was a large pole erected behind the stage, with a rope tied securely to the top of it. When Daine followed the cord she could see that the other end was tied to another pole, which was where the arguing was coming from. Three men, practically dressed with heavy gloves protecting their hands, were arguing with a forth. This last man was slender, light, and when he moved his motions were quick and bird-like. They were arguing about the pole, gesturing to it with every other word.

"Why did you make us put it up if you weren't going to use it?" The stockiest man demanded. "Just because you stubbed your precious toes…"

"I _broke _two toes." The bird-like man said, his voice petulant. "I need perfect control of my feet to balance…"

"You went to the healer!" Another man cut across. "We paid half a week's beer money for you to…"

"The _physical memory _had not fully returned, I assure you." The bird-man sniffed and looked up at the rope. "It's a lot more difficult than you seem to think."

Daine looked up again at the rope. It was quite thick – the kind of tarred rope used to moor ships. The tarring looked stickier than normal, too, making the wide strands easier to grip. It was strung so tightly across the poles that the gusts of May-wind weren't making it move an inch. "It doesn't look that hard," she said to herself, and then blanched when the bird-man rounded on her. "I'm sorry…" she started, but he was already drawing himself up indignantly.

"I wouldn't expect a _talentless _little _miss _like yourself to understand just how _demanding _this line of work is. It looks easy enough from the ground, but when you're _up _there, with nothing but the sky and the ground to break your fall…"

"You use a net." One of the men muttered. The bird-man spun around to glare at him, and Daine took the chance to slip away. Her stubborn mind refused to leave the men behind, and even though she told herself she was looking for Numair, she found herself at the base of the second pole soon enough.

"I _could_ do it." Daine murmured to herself, and then mentally shrugged. _Why not do it, then? I'll be able to see Numair from up there, after all… it's basically what Jon asked me to do… _

With that excuse firmly set in her mind, she told herself she was being sensible, and headed for the pole. There were good footholds notched into the wood, and climbing to the top was easy. She had stepped carefully onto the rope before the men at the other pole noticed and went white, shouting out to her. The girl ignored them, thinking quickly. She wouldn't delude herself that she had perfect balance, but she knew some animal forms that did. Lighter bones, more dextrous feet to grip with, primal balance…

She had to concentrate for the first few steps, getting the hang of the strange mixture of forms, and then she walked rapidly to the other post and stood easily on the top. It was only when she reached the post that she realised the world had gone quiet. The men had stopped shouting at her, and the remaining nobles were staring with gaping mouths. The bird-man looked nearly green. And there, at the bottom of the post, Numair, Jonathan and Grasmar were staring up with varying expressions of horror and amusement.

Numair broke the silence by applauding, a wide grin on his face. "Well done! It's obvious you're using magic, though. You should wobble more."

"She was using _magic?" _The circus master asked loudly, some colour back in his face now that the girl was on the comparatively safer post. "I didn't realise, I was afraid to look!"

Daine climbed down easily, jumping the last few feet. "Sorry. Some animals have a very good sense of balance, is all. It's a good thing to borrow. It's mostly in the ears."

"Oh." The man blinked up at the rope, and then back at her. His affected way of speaking had completely disappeared in his shock, but he tried to pull himself together. "You… Your friend is right, then. You should make sure you wobble if you're going to make a habit of it, like."

"I thought circus folk hated people using magic in their shows," Daine started, and Grasmar laughed.

"Well, we're not over-fond. But it's the audience who need to believe that we're gift-free, not the players! Any mage can make an apple vanish into a hat- poof!- but we like to show people that those without magic could do it, too. They know it's a trick, but it's clever and it makes them laugh."

"We're all here, then." Jonathan said, smiling, "Good: I can tell you the plan. Daine, Numair, this is Grasmar Gletdale, the owner of this wonderful entertainment. He's kindly agreed to let you join his troupe for the summer season."

"_Why_?" Both mages burst out simultaneously, utter bewilderment written on their faces. Jonathan's smile faded away, and for the first time he looked utterly serious.

"The season will take them to Fort Salydis in the northern mountains, near the Scanran border. We lost contact with the fort a few days ago. They've cut off their trade routes, stopped sending messages and have put guards on the mountain passes. Something is wrong, but I want to know _what _it is before we send in a whole army. You have to get in undetected. When she was at court Lady Atheris was one of the biggest patrons of the players; I hope she'll let the troupe in even if she _is_ planning a coup."

Grasmar looked sidelong at their stricken faces and laughed.

"I hope you can juggle."


	2. Chapter 2: Caravan

2A/N: Hi all! Thanks to everyone who's already reviewed this, you're lovely! Just to clear things up a little: the fact that I'm uploading this story doesn't mean that I've stopped writing the others. I needed something fun and easy to work on while I'm recovering from having quite a serious operation. It (and the pills) have pretty much wiped me out- hence the shorter chapters in this! So please forgive me for abandoning my other projects for a few weeks; I want to do them more justice than my fuddled brain can manage right now!

Anyway, back to the story…!

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Chapter 2

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"I always said I should return to juggling for a living." Numair lounged back in his chair, long legs stretched out halfway across the empty hearth. "I didn't think it'd be so soon, though!"

"It's not just juggling." Daine found the book she was looking for and opened it, her voice absent-minded as she flicked through the pages. "What is it about these lonely castles that makes people want to rebel?"

"We don't know if they are rebelling." The man reminded her, but there was no conviction in his words. "I suppose it's for the same reason that we're so quick to assume something's wrong – we have to get over the passes, so it's hard to get messages to them, and if they've cut off their trade routes, then..."

"It's stupid. These lords decide they want to get more power, or money, and so to be secretive they cut off their supplies? It's the normal people that suffer from that. They think they're fine now, but when winter starts..." Daine sighed and looked over the top of the book, realising she was rambling. "I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps they have a good reason for doing it."

"Perhaps." Numair echoed, and then shrugged, "But I can't think of one. Can you?"

"I guess we'll find out when we get there!" The words got brighter as the girl caught sight of a page and grinned in triumph. "Perfect: Margays!"

Numair blinked and then glanced over at the spine for the title: _Camena Feline._ "I guess that's a species of cat."

She nodded and shut the book, smiling. "Yes, they're tree cats, so they're better at climbing than most other cats. And I met one a few years ago, when the Banjiku were here for the solstice- remember? I just have to remember what they feel like. Then I'll only have to remember one shape, not ten, and I likely won't fall off that rope."

"You're taking this very seriously, aren't you?" Numair's voice was teasing, but there was a genuine question behind the light words. He stood up and caught her hand as she returned the book to the shelf. "You know you don't have to do it? We'd get into the castle just as easily by building the stage as we would by performing on it."

"But then why would the nobles speak to us? We have to be good enough to impress them." Daine said seriously, and then grinned, "Besides, this is going to be fun. You can't tell me you don't like the idea of finally being able to show off all those tricks."

"I show them to you! Are they so forgettable?" He mimed a tragic display of woe, making the girl laugh.

"I meant to people who matter."

"_You _matter." Numair grinned when Daine blushed, and then tried to cover her sudden shyness with a cutting retort.

"You know that's not what I meant! They'll be different. They'll watch you because they love your _tricks_; I watch your tricks because I love _you_."

"Surely that just means you matter more?"

Daine sighed and looked up, seeing that his eyes were dancing merrily. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

"Did you want to?" He asked. The girl shrugged and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, then pulled away quickly when he tried to kiss her back, her own eyes mischievous.

"I was trying to pay you a compliment, you dolt." She said matter-of-factly. "I thought you'd want me to win!"

"I think I'd better let you!" The man laughed, "If I've already been demoted from a trickster to a dolt, I dread to think what's next! Fine, magelet, I take it back. You don't matter at _all. _We live together because it's practical, work together because no-one else would tolerate us, and sleep together for warmth."

"Very true." Daine kept her voice solemn even as she slid her arms around Numair's back. She shivered when he did the same, running his fingers lightly down her spine, and the involuntary movement made him laugh.

"Are you cold, sweetling?"

"Frozen." She drew him closer. "Remind me, what is it we do for warmth?"

He smiled crookedly. "We're supposed to be packing…" he started, and then gave up that train of thought to kiss the side of her neck, murmuring warmly into her ear, "Ah, we have all night to pack. Who knows when I'll have you to myself again?"

"Don't the players spend their lives on the road?" Daine asked, surprised, "I thought they'd have their own ways of being private."

"The players do, but I don't think we will." Numair tapped the end of her nose playfully. "They'll be curious. How many new animals do you think will be following you by the end of the first hour, magelet?"

She reddened, even though she knew he was teasing her, there was some truth in it. "I can ask them not to, you know that."

"Or turn it into some sort of trick?" He grinned impishly, "'The girl who dreams of wolves, and wakes up surrounded by their snoring puppies'."

Daine laughed. "Well, that won't happen, I promise. You're right, it'd be too hard to explain away, and besides…" she stopped and smothered another laugh at his expression. "Jonathan didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me what?"

"He got us one of those caravans,"

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"And now I'm forced to wonder whether either of us has irritated our dear sovereign recently." Numair sighed, running his hand along the decaying paint and brushing the blue flakes from his sleeve. Daine secretly agreed, but checked under the cart. Even in the early dawn light she could see that the axles were sound and the wheels even.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she said, "I mean, we can fix it up as we go without much trouble. It'll get us to the North and back fairly easily."

"I guess it's simpler to carry a few tins of paint along with us than a whole new frame," the man agreed, and smiled. "Come on, let's dump our stuff in it and get to the others. Kit can guard it for a while, and Grasmar wanted to talk to us before we leave Corus."

Grasmar had a map befitting his overbearing nature: a gorgeous affair of exotic, bright inks and gilded borders. It hung in a frame, proudly showing all the routes the group hard toured on in the past. Corus was marked with a golden crown. During the show it had hung proudly from one of the wagons for the punters to admire, but now it was carelessly lying on the grass. The leader pointed to the crown, and then meandered his hand slowly North towards the mountains and Scanra. "This is the route we'll take."

"Why are we taking such a long route? Why not go directly?" Numair asked. The troupe master shook his head in mock irritation and made a point of looking the mage up and down.

"You may not realise this, but some of us have to make a living. We can't all be protecting the safety of the realm! Some of us just want to eat well over the winter."

"The king paid you," the man pointed out, and was supremely ignored. The rest of the troupe were marking out the route in charcoal, laughing and talking about the last time they were in each town. The only person who responded was the bird-man, who laughed and rolled his eyes.

"We are to perform for the Lady Atheris, not for some uncultured country dolt! If you think we would present her with a poor performance, you are much mistaken. It is kind, most kind, for our master to grant you this time with our _artistes _to refine your… show." He lifted his nose at the last word, smiling when the mage flushed darkly and opened his mouth to retort.

"This is the trade route, isn't it?" Daine cut in quickly, "So this is a good idea." She looked up, her eyes searching until they met Numair's. "We can ask the traders what they know about it. If we just went straight there we'd likely miss something. _We're _not trying to earn money, after all. What does it matter if our acts aren't refined?"

"Ah, poor ignorant child!" The bird-man trilled, and stalked off, wittering a laugh.

"I forgot how annoying players can be." Numair muttered, staring at his hands as if it was their fault they'd not slapped the man. "No wonder I left."

"Reaching Tortall without Ozorne noticing was really just a bonus, right?" Daine replied at the same volume. He shot her a look and then shrugged, smiling ruefully.

The troupe moved out with surprisingly little ceremony. A few people swung themselves onto horseback and headed up the procession, but most of the performers returned to their caravans and wagons and disappeared into the tiny homes. The roustabouts took up the reigns, clicked to the horses and moved off in procession. Most of them raised eyebrows at the new caravan as they passed it, barely hiding their smirks as they compared the weathered blue frame to their own brightly-coloured creations.

They couldn't scoff so openly at the horses, though. Although the presence of a stocky mountain pony prompted a few odd looks, the other two horses grazing nearby were obviously valuable and well cared for. Daine had asked for volunteers that morning, knowing that pulling a cart for endless weeks was a thankless task, and had plenty of choice when nearly every horse in the stable had offered to help. Summer, they said, was no hardship no matter what the excuse was to be outside. Daine set to lashing one of them to the caravan with quick, practiced movements, calling a few approving jeers from the passing drivers.

"Are you alright on your own here? I need to speak with our dear leader some more." Numair asked, one hand holding the sandy-coloured mare's reign. Daine smiled and nodded, caught up in her task, and when she thought to look around again he was near the front of the line. She climbed easily into the splintered seat at the front of the caravan. The strong chestnut mare tossed her head happily when the human called to her to set off, and once they were moving Daine thanked her again for her help.

_It's really no bother. _The mare said dismissively, whisking a fly away with a quick flick of the tail. _Everyone knows you look after horses better than anyone. The next person wouldn't have asked nearly so nicely as you, and I'd've spent the summer lashed to a plough or some-such, sweating away my youth… _

_Are you always this dramatic, Hanna? _The slightly sarcastic voice could only be Cloud's, and she trotted forward to nudge the horse with her nose. _Warn me now so I can fill my ears with mud. _

"Oh come on, Cloud, you're just as bad." Daine laughed, "Go ahead, but don't come crying to me when you get ear mites."

Cloud huffed and fell back into step. _I'm dramatic when there's something to be dramatic __about. _

The thought sobered the girl quickly. For a few minutes, sitting in the early morning sun with the cool dawn breeze on her face, she'd half-forgotten they were moving slowly towards another problem. "Don't worry," she sighed, "I'm sure there'll be plenty of that, soon enough."


	3. Chapter 3: Lon

Chapter 3: Lon

The rope felt warm under her bare feet, the dark tar almost too hot in the glaring afternoon sun. Daine concentrated on the heat, feeling the cool breezes which always darted through her toes, even on the most breathless days. This high up, the gasps of the people below were a distant sigh. It was just her and the rope, again, trusting each other not to fall.

It was too simple to simply walk from one end of the rope to the other, even this high up. When the players realised how steady she was on the rope, even when savage gusts of wind were tearing the pennants from the stage, they had decided to build a taller platform to draw bigger crowds. Set up in a town square, the brightly-painted poles could be seen from farms and hamlets for miles around. They came, gaping in mock fear, to stare at the girl who dared to climb so close to the gods. And, of course, that meant that climbing was not enough.

Daine bit her lip and made sure that the fluttering gauze of her wings was caught up in the breeze, and not underfoot. She could be careful now, before she began, making sure that she wouldn't trip. She checked the thin white cord which was wrapped around one wrist, making sure it was tied securely and that the other end was fixed to the platform. From below it was invisible, but the bird-man had tersely informed her that the fragile-looking twine had saved more lives than it had betrayed. The music started below her, and she raised her arms as the crowd hushed.

It wasn't dancing, not really. On the ground it would look like nothing. But up here, every half-step drew a gasp. Every frozen pose could betray a deadly tremor. When she jumped and landed lightly back on the platform she could hear women screaming. Sometimes she caught sight of them fainting out of the corner of her eye, and had to struggle not to laugh. Her balance was good, sure, but laughing would just as surely bring her crashing down.

Sometimes, too, she spotted Numair watching her, his eyes inscrutable. He never said anything to her when she climbed down, not any more. For the first few weeks he'd laughed and made jokes, but after she'd agreed to have the platform raised he'd quietly asked again why she was taking the performance so seriously. She'd repeated her reason: it gave them an excuse to talk to people.

They didn't even have to seek out gossip on the trade route; the townspeople flocked to speak to them. They were just as much in awe of the man who could make eggs vanish and reappear as strangely-tame starlings, before clapping together two empty hands and opening them with handfuls of beads spilling between his fingertips. Even some of the players begged him for his secrets. People spoke to them in droves.

"And they send word ahead," Daine pointed out, "So by the time we get to Fort Salydis they'll have heard of us. Hopefully they'll be curious enough to let us through the borders without asking too many questions."

"Yes." Numair shook his head distractedly, "I mean, no… do you enjoy it?"

"It's fun." Daine admitted. "They're so… I hardly have to do anything, but they still scream, and clap, like I learned all two hundred words of one of Grasmar's plays. I feel bad about that. He's working much harder, but they clap less."

"That's because they know he won't die if he makes a mistake."

"You think I'm going to fall?" Daine tried to cover her irritation with a laugh. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do!" Numair realised that his voice was loud enough to carry through the thin walls of their caravan. He made an effort to speak more calmly. "But even cats fall sometimes, and you don't _need_ to take risks until…"

"Neither do you. Should I lecture you now, or do I wait until one of the nobles catches you picking their pocket for trinkets for your tricks? Getting your thumbs cut off for thieving will surely help us!" Daine didn't bother keeping her voice down, and the words were more scathing than she had intended. The man reddened.

"I don't get caught." He said stiffly.

"Then, I don't fall." Daine snatched up a pile of tack that was waiting to be cleaned and left before either of them could say another word. The other players welcomed her to the large communal fire with cheerful voices, and by the time she returned she had almost forgotten she had been angry. She hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open, wondering if Numair might still be mad, but when she looked inside he was sleeping. One hand pillowed his head while the other one held a book open at the page he'd been reading when he nodded off. The familiar sight made her smile.

_He was just worried. _She thought, with the guilty clarity that comes after an argument. _I hate it when he lectures me, but he could never help being protective of me. I guess he can't protect me from myself, is all._

The next day, she calmly told Grasmar that she would only climb the higher platform if she could wear a safety rope around her wrist. The circus master shrugged, clearly thinking the thin cord was about as useful as a fireplace made of ice, but didn't object. She didn't mention the deal to Numair, and if he noticed then he didn't say anything. To the Daine who danced in the sky, he became a distant pair of eyes: eyes that watched silently and kept their own counsel. When she climbed down, and stripped the cumbersome gauze wings from her back, she was simply Daine again, and everything was the way it had always been.

She stopped on the platform, hearing the scattered applause below her, and raised her arms towards the cooling breeze.

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The stories from the traders began to get interesting as they neared the first mountain pass. They had to travel through three before they reached the valley which enclosed the Salydis lands. The locals told curious people that the valleys had once been a great river, frozen for hundreds of years, then melting and dwindling down into the river Lydis which nurtured the fields. In the winter the river swelled and froze again, a shadow of its formal glacial magnificence, and only showing its beauty to the lucky souls sealed into each valley by the mountain snows.

And what of Fort Salydis? It wasn't a glacier that had sealed off _that _valley!

Well no, the traders said, their voices uncertain as they glanced at each other. No, not the glacier, but…

And then the stories began. A thousand rumours, each more absurd than the last. There was a disease, a plague, or at least everyone had caught cold. There was a rockslide that cut off the route. The river had burst its banks and they were all too busy building boats to trade. All the women had grown ugly overnight and the men were distracted trying to remember which one was their wife and which one was their mother-in-law.

"So basically, you're telling us that no-one really knows." Numair said after that particular gem of a story. The traders shrugged and turned back to their ale, still trading comments about how certain people wouldn't notice any change if their wife was hit by that curse. They might mutter under their breath about the loss of coppers from the furthest reaches, but Salydis was so remote that most of them were happy enough to be turned away from the passes.

"By guards? Soldiers?" Daine pressed them, and bit her lip when they all shook their heads. Not soldiers, or at least, not all soldiers. Mostly farmers, miners… you know, just people. They were very polite and friendly, but they couldn't be reasoned with. A pitchfork is just as painful as a sword if you stick it in the right place… begging your pardon, little miss.

"It's strange." Numair said later that night, speaking in the low voice it was impossible to hear outside of the wooden walls. They'd both perfected it in the past few weeks, saving any serious discussion for the late hours when they were less likely to be overheard. A few of the other players wandered in and out of other people's caravans at will, acting offended if they were caught prying through other people's belongings. Secrets were seen as common property by such people. "If the passes were being sealed off for some kind of military reason, then surely they would be defended by soldiers, not by serfs."

"We keep thinking it has to be a coup," Daine's voice was slow as she thought, "But you're right, it doesn't make sense. I'm starting to think that maybe it _is_ something else."

"Perhaps it's the ugly curse," Numair said lightly, linking his hands between his head and smirking when she pulled a face at him. "See, it's already working on you!"

"We'll find out in a few weeks, anyway." The girl said, ignoring him. "I'm glad; this mystery is driving me mad!"

In fact, it was only a few days before they saw the hulking shadow of Fort Salydis at the top of one of the cliffs. The rest of the players laughed at their surprise and explained that the mountain trail looped around for many more miles before it even got to the outskirts of the tithed lands. But for those miles, like a lurking creature, the fort looked down on the trail. It clung to the side of the mountain like a limpet, stretching out claws of stone which stabbed deeply into the cliff face. It was hard to tell where the natural rock ended and the castle began, and whether the gaping maws in the mountain were windows or caves.

"The tunnels stretch for miles," Grasmar said, his voice awed. "I've heard they've found the bodies of people who got lost, years and years ago, and starved to death." His voice took on the darker tone that he used to tell frightening stories in the plays. "All that's left is a shrivelled, dried up husk, their faces stretched into one last, silent scream. If you listen closely, you can still hear their cries echoing through those ancient caverns."

Daine shivered and pretended it was from a cold gust of wind creeping up to the fire. "Is the castle that old?"

"Ancient." One of the other women cut in, her voice hushed. "It was a temple, or a crypt, or just a series of caves the priests of the oldest gods used to use, and when one of the old kings gave the land to a fledgling lord they just kept building on top of it. They say that even the Lady Atheris doesn't know all of its secrets, and she used to explore it with a ball of twine when she was newlywed. She went for miles and miles, and couldn't find an end to it…"

"The modern part's quite nice, though." The new voice sounded bored, matter-of-fact: "They built a new hall a few years ago. I hear they have proper glass windows."

"Spoil sport." The woman muttered. The bored man raised an eyebrow, the firelight catching the shadows around his eye sockets.

"Oh sorry… um, fear and dread, perilous mortals, the endless, tiring and boring climb all the way up to that bloody building for one show! 'Tis truly a thing of horror!"

"Eh, you're no fun." The woman turned away, then yawned and whistled to one of the dogs lounging near the fire. It sprang up with a comical expression before it woke up enough to realise it wasn't supposed to be performing, and then looked sulky. The woman smirked at it, and bid everyone goodnight.

"You've all been there before, then." Daine remarked. The players nodded, with a few shrugs thrown in. The ones who hadn't said they knew the lady from other castles, as she used to go out of her way to see travelling players when she was younger. They all had a memory of her, they said, but not of her castle.

"It doesn't suit her, that old tomb." One of the female tumblers said, "You could tell she grew up in a place with a big garden, lots of flowers. Sweet little thing, she was. I can't imagine her rotting up there when she could have stayed in Castle Lon."

"Lon?" Numair asked abruptly, looking up. "Did you say she's from Lon?" When they nodded, he pressed further, his face stricken. "What's her first name?"

"Idama. She was Idama Lon, and then she married lord Salydis to be Idama Salydis. When he died she kept the name." The players all nodded around the fire, happy to be able to talk about their patron. Daine was about to ask Numair what was wrong before he abruptly stood up and left, running a hand through his hair in agitation. The player's eyes all flicked to Daine, and she forced herself not to look worried.

"He's had a headache all evening; I'm fair sure he's seeking out some willow bark." She said flippantly, and then waved a hand. "Not that he'll know where to look! Goodnight, everyone."

She had to follow his tracks, but finally spotted Numair climbing up one of the sheep-trails on the mountain, following the random path absentmindedly. The girl guessed he was trying to clear his head, and hesitated before following him. Two things decided her. The first was that, even if it was a secret, it was about the Lady, so it was obviously important. The second was the worrying low silvery buzz which hummed in the corner of her mind, warning her that immortals were lurking somewhere nearby. She'd known the mage to get so caught up in his thoughts he'd forgotten to eat for days; she didn't trust him not to wander into something's nest in this mood.

After about a mile the buzzing faded, and she realised the immortals had moved away. She breathed a sigh of relief, stringing her bow back around her shoulders. They'd spoken about the creatures, worrying that a large attack might force them to betray that they were both trained fighters. But the immortals seemed to be in the habit of keeping away from the trade route; the other players guessed that they'd been shot at so many times by traders and travellers that they were wary of it. She was glad that this also seemed to apply to the trail. It was getting dark, the velvety blackness of a nearly moonless night, and she was thinking about shaping her eyes into those of a cat when suddenly a mage-light lit the sky in front of her. She blinked and shielded her eyes, and heard a quiet laugh.

"I know you're following me, Daine. Come and sit with me."

"You knew I was here?" She echoed, feeling foolish. When the spots cleared from her eyes she started walking towards the light.

"Well, I guessed. Even if I'd just shouted that out to the night sky, who would hear me to argue?" The words were joking, but he sounded as if he was struggling to be cheerful. When she sat down next to him on the crest of the cliff he barely smiled a greeting, but linked his arm through her own without a word. She waited without saying anything, thinking instead about the long drop under their feet, and the cold night air rushing up from the valley floor, and the comforting warmth of being this close to him. It was a long time before he started speaking, but when he did she felt suddenly cold again.

"I know Idama." He said eventually, the words flat. "I knew her when she _was _Idama, and not this Lady Salydis they're all so enamoured of. I met her in Lon when I was still running from Ozorne."

"So?" Daine was confused, "She knew you as a player, not as a mage. She'll just think you never stopped."

"No, sweetheart, you don't understand. I didn't… she didn't know me as a player. She had a sister, you see. Emma. She was older than Idama- she was nineteen, Idama was only ten. We stayed in Lon for two weeks, for the Beltane fair, and for the first week I saw her watching every single show we did. When we lit the Beltane fires, Emma made sure that I was the one she danced with."

He stopped speaking abruptly, kicking his feet against the cliff. Daine was half-glad of that; she told herself she didn't care about Numair's old lovers, but it was much easier to do that when they were a vague series of faceless women. When she heard their names she had to remind herself not to get jealous. It was truly strange to be so close to someone that she could feel every beat of their heart, and yet hear them talking about another person. She figured he wouldn't be telling her all this without a good reason, and forced herself to listen.

"For the next week we were nearly inseparable. But every time Idama saw us together, she would scream and throw things at me for… well, she said I was taking her sister away from her. Emma tried to laugh it off but she was torn by it. When my troupe left at the end of the week it wasn't too difficult for us to part ways.

'But the way Idama acted… on the outside she was sweet as honey, so polite and good natured, but behind closed doors she'd bite her skin on purpose to make it bleed, and tear her hair out, because she knew it punished her sister to see her hurt. Even tiny offences, like if she wanted a piece of fruit Emma was eating, would make her act like that. And you could see it in Emma's eyes. She loved her sister, but she was so hurt by it, and the few times she wrote to me, she said that Idama was getting worse. I couldn't bear to think what that meant. And then there were no letters, no word from Lon. I asked around, to try to find out what had happened."

"Tell me," Daine whispered, her mind reeling. Numair swallowed, his voice cracking.

"She killed herself. She jumped from the watchtower in the middle of the night. They found her the next morning."

"I'm so sorry." The girl reached out and took his hand, surprised by how sad she felt at this death of someone she'd never known. He squeezed her hand back, wordless, and she had to ask, "Why have you never told me this before?"

He laughed dryly. "It's not something I like to think about. But I do, sometimes. When it wakes me up, and I can't help but wonder... Daine, I think that this job is going to be more difficult than we'd hoped."

"Well, if she's crazy… but surely the players would have noticed…"

"No, not that. She's not crazy, she _manipulates _people. But that's not what I'm worried about. I think… I've always wondered…" He stopped himself and rubbed between his eyes, focusing his thoughts, and when he spoke again his voice was determined. "No. The problem is that, for a week, Emma shared every thought she had with me. And Idama _knows_ that. I'm probably the only other person in the world who knows that Emma would _never_ kill herself. I think that she was pushed."


	4. Chapter 4: By Command

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Chapter 4: By Command

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The guards rubbed their eyes but didn't make an effort to stand up straight, lounging on the half-rotten wooden posts that marked the start of the stone bridge over the Lydis. The players walked towards them with open palms held upwards, their postures jovial rather than wary. The effect was spoiled slightly by the strong gusts of wind that blew through the thin mountain pass. When they neared the bridge a particularly heavy blast made them stagger, and the soldiers laughed.

"C'n tell they're from t'Sooth, c'n't yeh?" One of them said, his voice deliberately overloud as he confided in his friend. The other soldier didn't answer, but spat downwind with a wide grin on his face. Grasmar scowled as he regained his balance, obviously having to force the cheerful grin back onto his face.

"Greetings, my brothers!" He bellowed roundly against the howling weather. "May I bend your ears on this tempestuous eve?"

"What's a one o'them, then?" The loud guard asked, one eyebrow comically raised. Grasmar's ears went red.

"Verily, 'tis this climate in which we lowly mortals must dwell, may the gods have pity…"

"Does he speak common, yeh think?"

"… can I speak to your captain?" Grasmar managed through gritted teeth. The soldier smiled warmly and clapped him on the back, pretending not to notice when the player flinched away.

"Oh aye, 'course yeh can. Why d'n't yeh say?"

"Thank you." The player said, watching him leave with a baleful eye before muttering against the deafening wind, "And may the imps of the dark gods take the minute fragments of your perishing soul to the underworlds from when you were spawned…"

"That'd be Lurpshire." The quiet guard said impassively, and nodded backwards up the pass at the player's stricken look at being overheard. "It's a farming hamlet. Still plagued with imps, mind."

The rest of the troupe were trying to hide their smiles when the first guard returned, bringing with him an older man with a tired expression. Unlike the two guards, this man walked with the casual assurance that his sword was never far from his hand, and he knew well how to use it. He held up his other hand to demand silence before Grasmar even so much as drew breath, and then beckoned the group closer.

"I have no patience with shouting over this wind, so listen well." he said wearily, barely looking at them. "I know you have many sick children, starving grannies and homeless pets, but I must give you the same answer everyone else got: you cannot trade here. The route is closed. Go home, sell your wares, and spend the extra time with your families. But do not think to trade in Salydis."

"But we're not traders," Grasmar cut in, a cunning smile starting across his face. "I am sure…"

Again, the man held his hand up, an annoyed line between his eyes. "The route, sir, is closed. What about that fact makes you wish to argue?"

"We're players…" the master started again, this time with no artifice.

"The Lady Salydis asked for us to come." A quiet voice broke in, carrying clearly in the lull of the wind. Half the players turned to gape, let alone the guards, but Numair ignored them to keep looking directly at the captain. His eyes were as honest as the tale was false, but his voice held a vein of pure iron. "She knows our names. Give her our names, and ask her if our journey here has been wasted. We did not come all the way here to be turned away at the gate!"

The captain blinked, and for the first time looked around at the troupe. They smiled back uneasily. Some were wearing the bright costumes they performed in, as an extra layer against the cold mountain wind, but most of them simply looked like mud-stained, weary travellers. He rubbed the bristle on his chin thoughtfully. "Players, you say?"

"That's right." Grasmar chimed in, but the captain's eyes locked again with Numair's. The mage looked back, his gaze perfectly unreadable.

"I d'n't know…" the noisy guard started uncertainly. "She has some odd ideas s'mtimes, but she wouldn't let'm in… what with the…"

"Hush." The word was soft, but undoubtedly an order. For the last time the captain's eyes passed over the troupe, and came to rest on Numair. He sighed and pointed back down the mountain.

"Go back where you came from, about six miles, there's a town there called Keteyn. Set up there for a few days, rest, perform, eat fire, whatever it is that you do, with my blessing. As soon as you get there, write down all your names and send them back to me- I'm Erik of the castle guard, the runners will know me, just tell them to bring it to the border. I'll go and ask her Ladyship on your behalf. Whatever Idama says, I'll come and meet you in Keteyn the next day. If It turns out you're wasting your time, you'd better be running away back down the mountain by the time I get there."

"We're not." Daine promised, avoiding the half-scared looks of the others. "Even if you just gave her one name, it would be enough."

The captain shrugged, and pulled out a scrap of paper and a stick of charcoal from his belt purse. Grasmar opened his mouth pompously, and then keeled over in a coughing fit before he could speak. While the other players rushed forward to give him some water, Numair shrugged and said, "Well, I suppose my name will do. Numair Salmalin… of Lon."

"Lon." Erik said the word flatly, but his eyes flicked up and a strange expression crossed them. Before they could ask him what was wrong, he had folded up the scrap and tucked it back into his belt. "I will meet you in the town square tomorrow, at noon." He said dismissively, and turned away before another word could be said. As soon as the man's back was turned, Grasmar's coughing fit stopped.

"Did you _w- witch _me?" He demanded, tears streaming from his eyes. Numair nodded apologetically, and handed the man a flask of water.

"I am sorry," he said, "But your name wouldn't have gotten her attention."

"My name..!" The player drew himself up proudly, and then stopped to take a drink, rather spoiling the effect. He sighed as he replaced the stopper and wiped his mouth. By the time they were walking back down the pass, he was quite cheerful again. "Well, no harm done, I guess, as long as we get in. You could have just _asked _me."

"Next time, I will." The man promised solemnly. "But I hope that this is the last time you are implicated in our plans."

"Implicated?" For once, Grasmar seemed at a loss to understand a four-syllable word. "Are you saying this is… is dangerous?"

"We don't know yet." Daine said, her voice quiet so that the other players wouldn't overhear. "But… we know something about the lady. Something which could hurt her. We don't know what she'll do about it, yet, but…"

"Stop- stop- stop!" The circus master made a sweeping motion and then placed one finger delicately to his lips. "If you don't mind, I like the idea of knowing lessthan you, seeing as how it'll make me safer! You keep your secrets between the two of you."

The player danced off down the trail, catching up with the men he always gossiped with while they travelled. They had left their horses further down the path, not sure if they'd have room to turn the whole parade about in a narrow pass if they were refused entry, but the players walked as rapidly as they rode, joking about the wind when it caught them and forced them in a different direction. Numair walked in silence for a long while, studying the swirling dust on the ground thoughtfully, until Daine caught his hand and asked what was wrong. He looked up, and then glanced down the trail at the distant Grasmar.

"I almost wish I hadn't told you." He said. "He's right, it's dangerous."

"She won't know that you told me." Daine replied lightly, "Or else, you might not have told me, and she'd've guessed that you _had, _and then I would be confused as well as in danger, and that would probably be worse, don't you think?"

"That's why I used the qualifier 'almost', magelet." Numair's voice was tart, but the corners of his eyes turned up in a smile. "Of course youshould know everything. I just have to remind myself of that, sometimes."

"Did you see Erik's face when you mentioned Lon?" Daine asked, changing the subject quickly. "He looked almost scared, for a moment."

"He also called the lady 'Idama' when he wasn't guarding his words." The man replied, his eyes flicking back up the trail. It looked peaceful. Gorse bushes lined either side of the trail, growing strong even in the staggering bursts of wind, and tiny white butterflies let the breeze carry them from flower to flower. Still, lurking over it all, the distant peaks of Fort Salydis loomed, shining in the sun until the grey stone looked like the jagged silver teeth of a huge immortal. It was an unsettling contrast, and Numair shivered at the sight. "It seems we might not be the only people keeping secrets on this mountain."

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The wind picked up over the next few hours, growing from the short bursts which had hurried them down the mountain to an almost constant roar of wind, taking people's breath away. The roustabouts opened extra sacks of iron pegs, hammering twice as many ropes into the ground as normal, and still several tents tore themselves free before they were firmly secured.

"That man's here." The snake-dancer said, watching the crowd milling outside of the women's tent, one heavily=painted eye pressed against a hole in the canvas. "The soldier from before- the quiet one. He's watching us."

"Like a punter?" One of the dancing girls asked, sounding bored. The snake-dancer shook her head, making the bells on her Carthaki headdress chime brightly.

"No, like… he's taking stock. Watching us."

"I bet it's for the lady." The dancer whispered, darting forward to peer through the gap an then flitting away, hands fluttering. "She wouldn't just take our word for it, whatever that juggler says. He'll be watching, waiting for us to slip up so they can turn us away." She pouted and brushed her hands down her costume, making the thin fabric snug against her flat stomach. "It's enough to make my butterflies start dancing with me."

"Bother your butterflies; how do you think my snakes will feel in this wind? They'll try to curl up inside my armpits against the cold, you know they will, and then they'll tickle me so much I'll laugh."

"Who cares about your toothless old earthworms, Denna?" The dancer started, her voice growing shrill. Daine stepped up to the gap in the curtains, glanced through, and calmly turned to take her wings from the costume chest. As one, both women gasped and grabbed at her hands.

"What are you _doing? _You can't possibly climb up there in _this!_" The dancer tried to unpick the girl's hands from the fabric, her painted nails catching in the gauze. The snake-woman was less violent, but her eyes were panicked.

"I have to, if they're watching. We _have_ to get through the border. Why would they let in a rope dancer who won't dance?"

"Because they know you're not an _idiot?" _The dancer shrilled, looking around to the other women for help. Some of them nodded, but most of them shrugged and turned away.

"They put my poles up for me. They're fine. The wind didn't blow them over, and the rope always catches the wind a little anyway. I'm fair used to a bit of breeze." Daine knew she was being foolish, but some stubborn part of her mind fought against the fear. "If I do it I'm a player, not a spy."

"You're more likely to be a puddle of flattened grease on the ground." The snake-woman said brutally. Daine shook her hand off and ducked out of the tent, gripping the wings tightly when the wind caught them and tried to tear them from her hands. There was another reason she wanted to climb, now that she knew they'd peaked Idama's interest, and she didn't have the spare time to worry about being safe. _I can always turn into a bird, and fly down. _She told herself, reaching the notched pole which had so many ropes strung to it that it looked like a strange triangular tent.

_I can do this. From there, I'll be able to see for miles. It will be perfect. _She squared her shoulders and gripped the first notch on the pole, feeling the familiar roughness of the splintering wood tremble in the wind. The high piping of the minstrels was torn away as soon as they played, dancing through the valley and further down the mountain towards the tiny hamlets they'd passed on their way through the valley. Men, women and children from those farms had been trickling into the town all afternoon, curious about the brightly coloured canvas strung across the town square. The wind clawed at the flags, already ripping some of them from their ropes. As she climbed Daine saw a bright blue pennant carried so high into the sky that even the birds would not be able to reach it. Her eyes followed it, and then the horizon. Looking, searching, scanning the mountains…

The platform shook under her feet, but she kept her balance easily. The wind had settled from a string of quick bursts to one continuous roar, and she realised she could work against it quite easily. She couldn't hear Grasmar's words as he wooed the crowed, but suddenly he was gesturing towards her, both arms extended and shaking in the wind, and she raised her own arms in reply.

The crowd were a distant blur of ashen faces below her as she took the first step.

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She woke up to a strange stinging sensation, utterly unlike the empty pain that had been throbbing through her dreams. She blinked, her mind still misty, and tried to look around to see where she was. A hand touched the side of her face, comforting but firm as it stopped her from moving.

"Ssh, stay still sweetling. You fell, but you… you're safe. You dislocated your wrist. The healer's fixing it."

"I have to put it back in place." The second voice was brisk, more business-like. "It will hurt."

Daine shut her eyes again, trying to remember _falling_ rather than wondering when the healer would snap her wrist back into position. Now that the fogginess was clearing she could remember the wind… and the sound of the crowd… and the metallic perfume of snow from the mountains…

There was a sudden sunburst of pain in her arm, and all thought fled from her mind in a black whirl. When the red lights behind her eyelids faded she cautiously opened her eyes, willing herself to breathe normally now that the pain was ebbing away. The healer met her eyes and smiled reassuringly.

"There." He said, standing up and dusting off his hands. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He waited for her weak smile before nodding a farewell and turning to leave, pocketing his payment with casual grace and leaving orders for the patient to rest. Numair closed the door of the caravan behind the healer and returned to the bed.

"Please don't tell me I shouldn't have done it." Daine said, pushing herself upright with the hand that wasn't aching fiercely. "There was a good reason. It was worth it."

"I wonder what you'd have had to break to make it a _bad _reason." He said sharply, and then sighed and sat closer so that she could lean against him. He kissed her forehead in a silent apology for his outburst. "We have a pass to get through the border now, if that's why you did it. I think the word they were using was 'fearless'. Idama has an excuse to be intrigued about us."

"That's good," Daine wished her head would stop spinning; even when she rested it on the curve of Numair's shoulder it still refused to settle. "But that's not why… there was another reason…" she frowned and pressed a fingertip between her eyes, suddenly confused. "There _was _another reason. I know it. I just can't remember what it was."

"The healer said you didn't hit your head," Numair frowned and gently pushed her hair back from her temples, checking for bruises. "Does it hurt? I can fetch him back."

"No, I'm fine. I just can't remember! I can remember climbing up there, and stepping onto the rope… and then I woke up here, but I can't remember why I decided to do it! I can't even remember falling."

"Well," the man's voice was light, but the joking tone sounded oddly strained. "I can remember that part. I don't think I'll ever forget it." He gave up trying to sound cheerful and suddenly held her tighter. "You scared me, magelet. I don't… I know I can get overbearing, but even the thought of losing you terrifies me. No reason would ever be good enough to risk that. I was even going to tell Grasmar to stop the show, to order you down. But you seemed happy enough." He grinned suddenly, "Sauntering across the rope like it was lying flat on the ground, like you always do. But then you got halfway across and just… stopped. You were so still the people started wondering if you were a badly cast illusion. And then… it was so quick… one moment you were on the rope, the next you were falling. The rope caught you but it snapped your wrist out."

"You were watching?" Daine asked sleepily, lowering her hand from her forehead, "Then why didn't you catch me? Like you did when I found Kit?"

He opened his mouth to answer, and then a bewildered expression crossed his face. He raised a hand to touch his forehead, and then paled and lowered it, recognising the gesture the girl had made a few minutes before. "I carried you back here and asked the townspeople to find a healer… I watched you fall. I can remember every second of it. And I … I thought…" he rubbed his forehead then, leaving an angry red mark between his eyes. "Daine, I can't remember either."

"Did I pass out?" Daine persisted. He nodded and glanced at her wrist. "No, not from that. I mean on the rope. Before I fell."

"I don't know." He said slowly, lowering his hand from his own forehead to hers. For a second the touch of his fingertips felt icy, spearing a strangely glacial memory which melted away as quickly as it had appeared. Daine instinctively drew back, trying to capture some fragment of the memory before it faded, but it was gone, and all that was left was an abhorrent coldness that seemed to be as much inside her head as on her skin.

"Daine, are you angry at me?" Numair asked, drawing his hand back at her involuntary gesture. "I would have caught you, I know… I just can't _remember…"_

"I know." She said quickly, smiling to try to chase away the stricken expression on his face. "I really do believe you. Honestly, I do. It's a few minutes we can't remember, not the rest of our lives! But…" She reached up, impressed that her wrist had already stopped aching after such a short time, and trailed her fingertips gently along his forehead. When he blinked and drew back she nodded, suspicions confirmed. "There. It happened to you too, right?"

"It's… cold." He said, sounding confused, and then angry. "No, that's impossible! How did they do that? We both guard our minds with our magic, they couldn't possibly have gotten inside our thoughts without us _realising!" _

"Then perhaps that's what they made us forget." Daine whispered, and shuddered. The iciness lingered in her head like a taunting whisper, selfishly hoarding the minutes she had lost and refusing to return them. The gap in her memory felt worse the more she thought about it, like a yawning pit, violating the rest of her thoughts into a confused, tarnished whisper. "I don't like the thought of someone being inside my head."

He didn't answer, but his arms tightened again for a moment. She wrapped hers around his shoulders, recognising some of her own horror in the hard set of his jaw and wondering if the comforting gesture felt as useless for him as it did for her. "Who do you think it was?" She asked, hoping that giving their silent attacker a name would make them less ghoulish. "The lady?"

Numair looked into the grey eyes of the girl who loved him, and wished he could take away the fear which cobwebbed her eyes into silver. He wished he could explain to her what he thought, what he knew or even what he just suspected. But it had taken him years to accept the revulsion his own thoughts led him towards, and even longer for the memories to stop warping his dreams into nightmares. He didn't want those dark shadows creeping into her bright eyes, dulling them into the lifeless gaze of that other girl who had died so many years ago.

"No." He said finally, raising her face so he could kiss her. Her lips were cold and tasted of salt. "No," he said again, drawing away so he could wipe the trace of that single tear from her cheek. "Not Idama. She's flesh and blood, sweetling, like the rest of us. She couldn't do this."

"Then… tell me who could?" She whispered imploringly, not caring to hide the fear in her voice. He shivered and looked away briefly, trying to blame the howl of the wind for his own answering dread. His answer couldn't be spoken out loud, because some part of his heart still believed that if your nightmares had no name, they couldn't possibly hurt you.

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	5. Chapter 5: My Love

Skydancing

Chapter 5: My Love

_Hear my words. Hear them clearly. _

_Without name, without form, without a story do I speak to you now. I am air, I am water, I am sky, I fly. I soar. I listen and sing. Without reason I dance with my words. _

_But meaning? Ah, yes, with meaning do I speak. My meaning is hard to hear. It skips past, settling behind my eyes and then fleeing my mind. I do not know my words. I know my meaning. I speak to you. Perhaps you will understand where I cannot, even though these words are mine, and spoken in my voice. _

_Hear me, then. The creature in the attic speaks. The demon who howls at night... oh yes, that demon. You hear it and shiver. Hear my words and tremble. Perhaps my madness is catching. She certainly seemed to think so, with her shining dresses and glittering fingertips. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the madness is contagious._

_I must have caught it, myself. I revel in it. Perhaps I drank it from the air, as rich and heady as the finest wine. I breathed it in like the sweet saltiness of a tumbled bed, and danced in its shadow. Oh, I am surely mad. They tell me so, and so I embrace it. It is my beauty, my love, my gift. Once upon a time I knew myself, and I knew myself to be destined to love. Not to be loved, for that was never my gift. I have no skill for making others care. But I... I could love like the open sky, spreading vast arms of sunset clouds to sweep us into her embrace. I could adore like the wind, as it breathed softly into every ear of its endless affection. And I did. I could never simply like a person. I either adored them or loathed them. And my loathing was a kind of love, and I longed for it with equal passion. _

_Now I speak it, I do not think myself so mad. We all yearn to be loved. I am not other, I am perfect. I am what you desire. I am water, I am sky. I fly, I soar. Listen to me sing. Without reason, dance with me, love, and hear my words. _

_Without name... my name? My name... _

_My name... _

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"You must be sure to say your name clearly." The herald looked bored, but his eyes glittered with frank curiosity. Word had obviously travelled quickly- or, at least, more quickly than the ponderous, shaky footsteps of the players' caravan as they made their way carefully up the cliffs. They had left their carts in the comfortingly level courtyard with obvious relief, happy to be safely enclosed in four stone walls which let none of the biting winds rip at them. Daine and Numair had eyed the thick walls with less pleasure, silently taking in the strength of the fortress and the number of guards who thronged the walls. They had been relaxed, leaning casually over the battlements to jeer at the tumblers who looked so ridiculous in their bright tunics, and the players had shouted back up at them. It took very careful eyes to see the wary hands hovering near their weapons. It took trained eyes to notice the casual flicker of each face as the soldiers counted their guests. Two very careful pairs of trained eyes saw this at a glance, and quickly looked away.

The herald arrived to usher them in to the main hall. They filed through the archway into an echoing stone corridor, brushing against the vast doors of dense cedar which were carved with warring mountainous creatures. Wolves and hawks snarled at each other as the thick stone walls of the keep quickly stole the guarded mountains from their sight.

The herald carried on with his instructions of court etiquette, his voice echoing in the stark passageway as he dawdled ahead of them. Daine touched Numair's elbow, gesturing for him to lean down so she could whisper in his ear.

"Are they keeping something in, or out?" She asked, "Could you tell? I couldn't work it out."

"No, me neither." Numair frowned and tugged at his nose, keeping one eye on the herald. "We'll find it hard to get out, though, either way. They can either keep us here as prisoners, or to protect us."

As if on cue, the great wooden door they'd passed through creaked shut behind them, pushed by a throng of servants who scattered, faces down, as they were replaced by more armed guards. The men smiled and leaned back against the wood, heedless of scratching the carvings with their well-tended armour. Their grins were not reassuring.

"If we need to get a message out, to tell Jonathan, promise me you'll fly out of a window as soon as you can and not argue about it?" Numair demanded, rounding on her and struggling to keep his voice low. Daine bit her lip uncomfortably and linked her arm through his.

"I don't know if there _are _any windows." She replied, not agreeing. Numair seemed about to press the point when the herald abruptly stopped talking, and gestured them forward.

"Which one of you," He said in his bored voice, "Is Numair Salmalin of Lon?"

"Here." Numair said, his voice clear in the silence. The herald smiled thinly but didn't say anything else, simply gestured for the whole troupe to follow him a second time. By now they were deep inside the mountain, where the walls felt damp and cold to the touch and every step echoed with a metallic harmonic. A second set of the thick wooden doors loomed ahead of them, but before they could make out what these ones were engraved with they were flung open, and the passage was flooded with golden light.

It was like stepping from an armoury into a treasury. What had been grey steel and solid iron was now warm gold and soft silk. The room was huge, larger even than the main hall in the palace, but instead of warm brick walls the cave edges were swathed in endless bolts of fabric. Some hung down in veils, shimmering, some protected the room from draughts, and all was in the colours of the house of Salydis: warm orange and shining yellow. The floor was coated with sweet-smelling woven mats, and even the sound was different. The echo had vanished, and the soft piping of a skilled flautist wove through the soft, cultured voices of the people within.

Daine smiled wryly, realising why the herald had been so strict on his instructions of etiquette, and almost wished she'd listened. She instinctively brushed her hands down her tunic, smoothing the travel-stained fabric into a more ordered mess of creases. Around her, she was aware of others doing the same. She was surprised that Numair, usually so careful with his appearance, was watching the players with a slight smile on his face, hands tucked into his belt idly.

"It's a game she's playing, then." He said, a strange look of satisfaction in his eyes. "Do you know, Daine – I think this is going to be fun."

The girl blinked and stopped her hands from nervously combing through her hair. She didn't know what he meant, but before she could ask she heard Grasmar's nearby chuckle, equally soft.

"If she really cared about decorum, she'd've let us freshen up before herding us in here. She's putting us in our place." He explained easily, not stopping his own tweaking at hems and stray threads on his clothes but not looking overly concerned. By then they'd almost reached the head of the hall, and the mutual tidying had turned into a series of nervous twitches. One by one the people at the head of the crowd bowed and moved aside. Daine stretched to see over the heads of the group, but couldn't see anything yet. The swathes of fabric and the crowd made the room seem far too close.

"It's like being inside a bubble." She muttered, glancing up and seeing that even the roof shone with orange satin. "A big, orange bubble."

"I wonder if the first people to settle in this valley sheltered in these caves." Numair replied absently.

"You _would_ wonder that." Daine smiled and then took a breath when the crowd ahead of them finally thinned. Unlike the others, who had spoken their own names, the herald made a point of announcing Numair's name to the room in a loud, strident voice. All chatter stopped, and the Lady Salydis stepped forward.

She was swathed in orange and gold, a mass of fabric which brushed the floor and flowed from her shoulders in heavy, embroidered pleats. Her hair was the dusty brown-black of coal, combed with oil until it shone and braided in an intricate design. Gold ribbons were threaded through the hair, hanging down behind her ears and weaving in and out of the precise curls at the nape of her neck. She wore no jewels, but her face was heavily emphasized with paints; a thin line of kohl on each eye echoed the plucked arch of each eyebrow, united in glowing golden shaded eyelids, and a blush of carmine made her lips look swollen. She was a creature of perfection, pampered and cosseted until she glowed in the orange candlelight. The golden ribbons ringed her head like a crown, and she lifted her head regally as they approached. She could have been any age, but the kohl made her piercing eyes look wide and childlike – a yamani doll, wrapped in priceless silk.

_It's all a game, _Daine reminded herself, feeling small and skinny and shabby. The creature's lips curved upwards, showing a glint of teeth, and the girl squared her shoulders. _I'm not scared of you. I can't even tell what you really look like under all that paint. _

They made their bows, and stood silently, waiting for the glittering doll of a lady to acknowledge them. She looked at them archly for a long moment, and then smiled flatly and inclined her head. Her eyes flicked up for a moment – strange, brown eyes that were so light they were almost as yellow as her robes – and scanned the rest of the crowd. They flitted across to her guards, and for a second there was a strange hesitation in her look.

Daine wondered, afterwards, at that expression. If the lady hadn't been so completely self-possessed it might almost have looked like she was asking for approval. The girl itched to glance behind her, to see who the lady was looking at, but the moment passed as rapidly as it had begun, and the players were dismissed without a second glance. The silence broke, and the soft laughter of the courtiers began anew. The herald told them, in a lowered voice, that a welcoming banquet was being prepared for that night, and now they'd been properly introduced they should rest and freshen up. No performing would be expected until the next day. The Lady Salydis, he said with a slight smile, was very compassionate about such things. Besides, a tired tumbler is _boring_.

The players nodded and made sounds of agreement, but a few glanced at each other in confusion. The snake dancer, looking half-dressed without one of her pets circled around each arm, whispered too loudly to her neighbour that _she _was certainly never boring, no matter how tired she was. The herald raised an eyebrow.

"That's as may be, but even so, we have strict rules about our guests." He smirked. "You have crossed our threshold, and must bow to our will... in this, at least."

The lady made an involuntary movement, but when a few people looked curiously in her direction she was, once again, serene. The players bowed raggedly and thanked her for her hospitality. As they trailed from the room, Daine couldn't help glancing back.

The lady was staring after them- especially at Numair- but her eyes were unreadable. Then, abruptly, the lady saw Daine watching her, and their eyes met. For a second Daine was the victim of such a flash of such pure hatred it made her heart race. The creature's eyes narrowed, those white teeth showed, and her fists shivered as if she longed to clench them into fists. A breath, a heartbeat, and then... there was nothing. The Lady Salydis stared at Daine impassively, blankly. Catching her breath, the girl left the room.

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"Maybe you imagined it." Numair said, hunting through his pack for a clean shirt. "It was pretty tense in there."

"I didn't imagine anything." She knew her voice was curt, but she couldn't help it. Even the memory of that look made her feel ill. There had been something about it, something uncanny, which made her stomach feel cold. Numair stopped his searching to look around, his expression quizzical.

"But, Daine, it just doesn't make sense. Why would she hate you? She doesn't know anything about you, apart from the fact that you're with me. And you said she didn't look at me that way."

"No, but..." Daine tailed off, sounding confused. "It _happened." _She insisted finally.

He was silent for a long moment, "I wonder what this game is that she's playing. I wouldn't put it past her to do something so strange, just to see our reaction."

Daine looked up, "How would a normal person react?"

"I don't know," He sounded amused, "Let's say she's playing her card... she wants us to think she hates you. Let's take the next logical step, since she's also spent a lot of effort showing off her money and military strength to us. We are poor, travel-worn travellers, presented to her in rags. The implication is that she has all the power, and we are at her mercy. She's made you the target. What do we do?"

"We're not at her mercy. We could shapeshift out, or fight, or make a simu... thingy..." Daine gave up on that word, "You know what I mean."

"Yes, so that's one option – we show her what we're capable of, and then she'll know how to defend herself against us. We could also try to blacken her name, and that way she'll find out what we know."

"But she's only threatened me, in this game you've made up." Daine reminded him, "Why would we need to fight?" She smiled slowly, seeing the answer in her own question. "Ah, I see... she wants to see if you'll protect me. So another option would show her that we make each other weak."

"Eloquently put. I feel so loved right now." He drawled, and then grinned. "So that's option two. Option three is what we're doing right now. We come back here, discuss it, and the guard outside our caravan reports back to her, so she knows how we plan. But we'll have to think about option four, too, because the guard is currently hearing a lot of inane chatter from my warding spell." He flicked his eyes up at her. "You're talking about how lovely the lady's dress was."

"She looked like someone had set fire to her." Daine shrugged, "How's that?"

"Dynamic and smouldering." The man's voice was solemn, but his eyes laughed as he turned back to his searching.

"Option four is best for us," The girl said slowly, putting away the dress she'd unpacked and reaching instead for her darkest tunic. "In option four, I'm scared of the lady, so I don't go to the welcoming banquet. I'm tired from travelling anyway, so I stay here and blow the candle out. And while everyone's getting friendly in the main hall, no-one will notice another bat flapping around the castle."

"She might expect you to stay away," Numair warned, but he obviously liked the idea. "She doesn't know you can shapeshift though, so she won't be expecting all of it." He finally found his shirt, buried in a knot under the rough travelling clothes, and shook out the creases. "I'll bring you back some food."

She thought back to that glare again, and shuddered. Something about it made her remember the icy helplessness that still gave her nightmares. "Don't worry, I'm not hungry."

"Regardless." He started getting changed, his voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. "You're the only person in the world who can have a healing and _not _feel hungry afterwards. You have to eat _something_, sweetling."

The girl laughed and tugged at the hem of his shirt so it hung straight. "Bugs." She said. "I'll eat insects with the other bats. We'll have a better feast than you, with your honey-glazed dormice and eavesdropping guards, and we'll find out more about this mystery, and then we'll come back and lecture _you." _

"I look forward to being lectured to by a swarm of flying rodents with great anticipation." He brushed one of her curls behind her ear. "Be careful, magelet."

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	6. Chapter 6: I Remember You

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Chapter 6:

I Remember You

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Night fell. The wind had died down gradually over the evening, but it still sang in hollow notes through the network of caves which formed the fort. Numair shivered and sweated by turns, too hot standing by the enormous fires which lined the room, but chilled by every errant draught. He wrapped his arms around his thin frame and headed deeper into the crowd, preferring the cloying, sticky warmth of the perfumed masses in the centre of the room to the abrupt changes of the walls.

The banquet, they were told, was not special to them, but rather an event which happened every fortnight. All the landowners in the valley, distant relations of the noble family of Salydis, and trainee courtiers of the mountain range gathered for these feasts. Most of them clearly knew each other, and were chatting merrily without paying much attention to the players standing awkwardly in their midst. Wine flowed richly, and Numair noticed that many of the guests had already drunk enough to regret it in the morning. By the time the herald announced that the hall was prepared, some of them could barely stagger from the atrium into the hall. One by one, painfully slowly, the herald directed each courtier to their seat.

_She likes playing with decorum, _Numair thought, idly waiting against the wall and scuffing at the rushes on the floor with his boot. He was inclined to over-think every action, he knew, but... _Perhaps she likes this total control of her people. _The thought crystallised in his mind, into a suspicious sentence which didn't go away. _She's practicing how she might rule a kingdom. _

He was still brooding over that point, rushes ground into a fine powder beneath one foot, when the herald called his name. Absently he followed the man's directions and took his seat, resting his head on his chin and wondering how many of the other guests might be complicit.

"Greetings to you all." Said a female voice. It was close- worryingly close. He looked up in surprise, noticing with a delayed thrill of shock that he'd been sat next to the Lady herself. The corner of her painted mouth twisted at his reaction but she gave no other sign that she'd noticed. "We welcome you to Fort Salydis. Eat, drink your fill, and rest. Tonight, I will entertain you, and in return tomorrow I expect you to show me the show to end all shows!" She smiled narrowly at the drunken cheers which this roused, the blushing powder on her cheeks turning to dust, and gestured for them to begin eating. This raised a much louder cheer, and the lady sat down.

Numair wondered what she would say, or do. She'd obviously sat him next to her for a reason, but apart from that strange half-smile on her face she barely acknowledged that he was there. The few times he tried to start a conversation with her, she answered politely and returned to her meal. Her voice was affected, pitched high, and as the meal wore on and she drank more a fine beading of sweat pooled on her forehead and made dark lines in the powder.

The man didn't eat much, and drank even less. The food was splendid, he had no doubt – although his comments on that matter were dismissed as quickly as all the others. There were several courses, including a salt-fish which must have been brought here from the coast. Numair exclaimed at that, wondering at the expense and the difficulty.

"I imagine your ladyship allows certain traders through the pass to allow us to try these luxuries?" He prompted. She looked sidelong at him and laughed lightly, her voice pitched at a girlish, breathy giggle which made his teeth hurt.

"There's nothing threatening about a fishmonger, _juggler_." She declared archly, raising her voice so the whole room could partake in the joke. The people laughed willingly, even those who hadn't heard the Lady's 'witty' comment. Numair flushed and looked away, not able to say anything else while under the scrutiny of so many mocking eyes.

The rest of the meal passed in silence. The noble on his other side was too far into his cups to speak to, and whatever questions the mage asked were met with increasingly blank looks. And always, at the corner of his eye, he was aware of the Lady's slight smile. He counted the nobles, making a mental note of the order they were sat in, and saw that each exit was guarded by the same humourless men who had escorted them in that morning.

There was no doubt that they were prisoners. It was like Daine had said- even if they were there to keep someone out, it was clear they'd be just as vigilant at keeping the guests _in. _Even the players who had praised the Lady on their journey there looked at the soldiers askance, silently wondering why there were so many of them.

The meal broke down into a drunken revelry, and the fires were built up again as servants scurried to clear the desserts away. Numair stood up and mingled with the crowd, trying to overhear any conversation which might be a clue as to the closed-off passes. There was nothing, just the intoxicated babbling of a group of clueless people. The stench of stale mead and greasy food and the heat of the room made him feel ill, and he realised there was nothing he could do here. A series of unguarded doors around the outside of the room led to the servants' quarters and other atriums, and he chose one at random to explore. No-one in the drunken mass saw him go as he slipped through the heavy, carved door.

The room was cool, and dark, and he pressed his hand over his eyes for a moment to clear them of the stinging ache of perfume fumes and stale smoke. When he took his hand away again he could see where he was- a small anteroom, the walls lined with books and shelves. He frowned at some of the titles he could see, and was just about to examine the strange objects that lay on the shelves when the door clicked open, and a beam of yellow light half-blinded him.

He heard a laugh- low, slightly drunk, and oddly familiar. The person who'd stepped through the door closed it behind them, and when his eyes had cleared in the darkness he could see a familiar waterfall of golden silk. He made a formal bow and wondered how he could explain his presence in this room when, to his surprise, the Lady spoke first.

"Hello, Numair."

The shock wasn't so much because of the familiarity of the words, but the voice they were spoken in. The false high-pitch was gone, and in its place were the mellow tones of a voice he still dreamed about. She'd scrubbed the heavy paint from her face, and her features looked softer, completely different, and utterly impossible. His shock must have been obvious, because the Lady laughed again.

"I'm glad to see you again. How do you like my acting skills?" She twirled in the golden dress gaily, all hints of her regal persona vanishing. Numair tried to speak, cleared his throat, and said gruffly,

"Which one's the act?"

She took a few steps forward and laid a finger across his lips, her long lacquered nails scraping across his cheek. "Now, now, telling you that would spoil my finale, don't you think?" She laughed again, irresistibly. "Oh, I can't believe you didn't say anything at the feast! I thought I might _die_ trying not to laugh!"

He flinched at her choice of words and she drew her fingers away, framing her face in a childish pantomime of guilt. "Oh, did I say the wrong thing?"

"You..." again, his throat closed up before he could finish the sentence. She rolled her eyes and then fluttered the lashes coquettishly.

"I? Little old me?"

"You look like... her." Numair managed to say, still stunned at the shade dancing before him. She laughed.

"It's amazing how similar people can look, isn't it?" The playfulness in her voice didn't change one iota, but the words became rather spiteful. "For instance, I hear you're almost the living spit of the famed Black Mage, our dear King Jonathan's trusted friend. Is that true?"

"I never said I wasn't...him." the man tried to brazen the declaration out but tripped over the words.

"But you came to me as a juggler." She said mockingly, and fanned herself with one hand. "Oh, I _am _looking forward to seeing you perform." Suddenly casting aside the childish play-acting, she ran a hand down his chest, leaning in closer to draw the talons back up his back. "I've heard a lot about your performance, you know."

"Stop it." He stepped backwards, almost stumbling over a desk in his haste. The sudden surge of disgust gave him his voice back. "I'm not interested, Idama. Whatever happened before was between me and Emma, not you. It's done with."

"_Done with_?" She raised an eyebrow and took a casual step forwards again, heedless of his warning glare. "We're going to let everything be forgotten? Every... little... detail?"

"I didn't say forgotten. There are a few things certain people might like to be reminded of." He said, his words harsh, trying to stop her in her tracks. She smiled broadly, showing white teeth.

"Hark at the martyr! You go ahead. Remind my guards, they'll surely listen. I'll help you spread the word. I think I might start by telling that scrap of a girl you arrived with – does she have a name, or is that not one of the important things to come between you?"

"She knows." Numair snapped, and then instantly regretted it when the Lady's eyes curved into a smirk. He was giving away far too much, being far too emotional to think straight, and with a jolt he realised that was what she'd been planning all along. She had seen them together earlier that day, and deliberately sown the seeds to split them up at the banquet. He belatedly thought back to the place settings at the feast – even if Daine had been there, there was no place laid for her at Idama's table. _She made sure I'd be alone. _He realised in a flash, and knew that the Lady could see the racing thoughts in his eyes by her smirk.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here, if you know so much?" He asked, trying to regain his footing. Idama shook her head, curls flying loose from her braids, and giggled.

"All business, aren't you? No time to stay a while and play with your old friends. But I insist. And my guards insist. You'll stay here, behind that delightful mask, and so will I. We'll see who can tear away our disguises the fastest. You might find," She said, her drunken voice dangerously playful, "That stripping away my disguise is easier than you'd think." She leaned in closer, and he realised that she'd closed the difference between them again. He longed to shove her away, reminding himself who she was, _what _she was, and knowing that such an attack would be just what she wanted.

She ran a finger around the collar of her dress, pulling the fabric away from her skin and then violently dragging the nail through the cloth. The priceless weft ripped at the seam, tiny beads scattering across the room as her throat was exposed. He flushed and looked away, but suddenly had to look back, eyes widening, a white rage building in his heart.

"That's Emma's necklace." He said, and grabbed her shoulders. She gasped as he shoved her back against the wall, fingers bruising her skin. Books from a nearby shelf thudded to the floor. "I gave it to her."

"And why shouldn't I have it, now?" She said breathlessly. Numair scowled and shook her. _She wore it on purpose, _said a tiny voice in his mind, totally eclipsed by the howling outrage.

"You... _you, _of everyone, had no right to..."

"Numair," She said, her voice soft and calming and utterly _wrong. _"I've worn it every day since you gave it to me."

He flinched and let go of her so quickly she fell to the floor, laughing and rubbing at a bruise that reddened one elbow. For a long moment he stared down at her, breathing raggedly, hands clasping and unclasping as he flushed red, and then white. She stood slowly, unconcerned as her ruined dress slid from one shoulder. The smirk was back, though – the one that said, _This is my game, I am in control. _

"Didn't you recognise me?" Her voice was quiet, melodious. The voice of a ghost. She smiled gently at his stunned expression, and drew close enough to him to whisper into his ear, "No, beloved, I don't believe you. There was a time when you knew every inch of me." She let her lips linger against his ear, her arms snaking around his back as she curved her body against him. The man's hands moved to her shoulders, but only to push her away again.

"You're not Emma." He whispered. "Emma died. You killed her."

"And yet, here I am." She smiled and abruptly let him go, hands fluttering in a dismissive gesture as her voice returned to the regal brightness of the Lady. Her performance was over, and she was back in control even as the mage tried to make sense of this. His eyes were opaque with shocked, frantic thoughts. "Well, be off with you. Goodness _knows _what people might think if they saw us together like this. A few words in the wrong ear and half the townsfolk will be after you with pitchforks."

He stared at her, "You're mad."

Her face darkened then, the first unprovoked emotion he'd seen her display. She stood up straight in the ruins of her gown, books scattered around her feet. Her eyes narrowed, and for a second the yellowish irises glowed poisonously. Her voice was shrill. "That's always the easiest answer, isn't it? Mad. They say I'm mad, like that's the only answer, the only thing to work out. And it's the only answer you and that... that _girl_ will find, I promise you. You'll come back to me, begging me for the answers, before this is over."

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	7. Chapter 7: Hidden

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

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Chapter 7: Hidden

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Daine had found out very little from flying with the bats. The castle was vast, spanning many miles of caves and buildings, and the bats were only interested in the deserted haunts of its furthest reaches. When she'd taken the shape of a cat and crept through the tunnels she'd been shooed away from locked doors by servants and guards more times than she could count. The problem was that she didn't really know what she was looking for. In the same way that Numair had automatically counted the nobles in the hall, she started forming a mental map of the castle, paying attention to where people gathered, and where the halls were dusty and deserted.

She'd found one door, locked and bolted from the outside, which made her pause. When she flew around the outside of the tower it was in, she could see no windows. Tiny cracks in the ancient, crumbling stones let out tiny fireflies of light, so there must have been a candle burning inside it. There were no other lights in this section of the castle; the tower leaned precariously from one side of a cliff, and the wind howled around it constantly. After just a few minutes of it her head hurt, and she couldn't hear over it to listen to any noises coming from the locked room. She wondered if this was what these people had instead of dungeons- certainly being buried alive in the cliffs seemed more pleasant than this exposed building. Biting her lip, she shape shifted into a human and tested the bolt. It was new, seasoned wood, strongly made, and padlocked onto the iron frame which held it. A faint tingling warmth on the metal spoke of a spell to warn away lock pickers. Without a key she had no way to get in. Kitten might be able to whistle the lock off, but she had no way to bring her here – she'd had to fly around several guarded corridors to get to the door.

The girl was about to turn and leave when she saw something shining on the floor. Frowning, she picked it up – a small charm, engraved with a mage-sign she didn't recognise. Walking softly back down the dark corridor, eyes shaped into keen cat-eyes, she saw more of the tiny metal disks littering the floor.

When she shifted back into a bat she carefully picked up one of the disks in her claws and carried it back with her. The caravans were clustered in a friendly circle in a yard near the stables, and it was so late that most of them were dark. Her bat-ears picked up the sounds of snoring and drunken muttering from most of them- the banquet must be over. It was comforting to see that their own caravan had the soft, warm light of a lit candle peeking through the open shutter, and she fluttered down with relief.

She'd half expected Numair to be asleep too, but he was awake, sitting in the small bench that lined one wall with his head in his hands. He smiled a greeting when she landed and looked away while she turned back into a human, his face drawn and pale. Daine carefully picked up the disk and rubbed her shoulders, feeling the ache of flying setting in. She'd thought to ask about the symbol straight away, but something in his silence stopped her. Instead, she sat next to him.

"Are you alright?"

He looked up, still silent, and she saw that his eyes were reddened with tiredness and unshed tears. She drew a breath and impulsively kissed his cheek, worried at how cold he felt. "What's wrong? What happened?"

He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again and looked away. Something seemed to interrupt every action he started, like a broken clock desperately going over the same minute of time over and over again. Daine waited, not knowing what to do. She'd never seen him like this before, and it almost scared her. He was always the one who could think his way around anything. She fleetingly wondered if more of his memories had been stolen, but this didn't look anything like that cold sickness. She took his hand in hers and said, quietly, "You don't have to tell me. I trust you. I love you."

He looked up involuntarily at that, his eyes overpowered with sudden emotion as he kissed her with such violent tenderness she could hardly breathe. She dimly heard something fall to the floor as they moved in the small space but she didn't care. She couldn't care, not when surprised coiled around the delicious warmth in her stomach and coursed through her blood like burning oil. Not when she could feel the coarseness of his calloused fingertips holding her face, stroking the nape of her neck, tracing along the ridge of her collarbone. Not when the warmth became heat, demanding, voiceless and breathtaking.

He pulled away as suddenly as he'd grabbed her, hands strong where he still held on to her. "You know I love you, right? You _know _that?" He demanded, his voice ragged as the words came out in a flood.

"Y-yes, of course," She whispered, trying to catch her breath and chase down the confused tatters of her thoughts. "Wha... why...?"

"No." He stopped her questions with another kiss. "Don't ask me. Please, sweetling..." the note of pleading in his voice was oddly detached. "Just tell me that you know."

"I love you," She said, confused but still speaking from her heart. He smiled and kissed her forehead, oddly tender through whatever frenzy possessed him.

"I never doubted that for a second." He promised, "But..."

She nodded, not understanding at all but saying the words sincerely. "I know you love me."

"And... and you know I'd never hurt you?" He pressed. Daine's forehead wrinkled in absolute confusion, but she nodded and echoed the words again.

"Why... why ask about hurting me? We have enough people to fight without..."

"Not that kind of hurt." He said earnestly, and when she looked confused again he smiled- a strange, pained smile which she couldn't read. The thought darted from her mind when he kissed her again, trailing his lips from her mouth to the side of her neck until she moaned and clung to him. When he spoke again the words were almost sorrowful. "Oh magelet, don't ask questions. I dearly hope you never have to find out the answers. And you won't because of me, I swear it."

_But what if I need to know? _She thought, but didn't ask aloud. Something in his eyes stopped her, an unsteady look as if his mind were trying to drag him away from her, even as he laid her down on their bed and kissed her so deeply that she thought she might drown in the fire of it. She asked silently instead, tangling her hands in his hair and arching up against him, drawing so close that she could feel their hearts beating together. That was the only sound – and the only one that mattered, really. Two hearts linked together, just as their hands and arms and legs were entwined, closer than skin warm on skin, more honest than any soft moan, and headier than any sigh.

Afterwards, the other sounds came back, but less urgently. Numair stroked her hair as it lay tumbled across her shoulder, his eyes thoughtful and less feverish. Daine cuddled into the crook of his arm and repeated back everything she'd seen on her flight in a soft voice, relieved to see the familiar academic interest light his face when she mentioned the charm.

"What did it look like?" he asked. Daine smiled ruefully.

"I brought one back to show you. I think we dropped it on the floor, though." She yawned and glanced at the shadows in the caravan. "I'll find it in the morning."

He laughed shortly, his hand not stopping its gentle pattern. "Sorry, sweetling."

"Don't be." Daine kissed his jaw, enjoying the feel of the rough stubble under her lips. He held her more tightly for a moment, and then turned his distant gaze to the ceiling. In a quiet voice, still tracing the line of her hair, he related back everything that had happened at the feast. He stopped abruptly half-way through, and the girl blinked in confusion.

"That's... not so terrible?" She ventured, wondering what had upset him so much. He blinked and returned to his silence, trying to think of how to describe what had happened in the tiny antechamber.

"We shouldn't have come here." He managed finally, his voice rough. "Jon should have sent someone else."

"Why?" Daine asked, thinking back over the banquet story with confusion, and then hazarded a guess, "Because of what happened to Emma?"

"No. Because... it _didn't." _He said the words as if he still couldn't believe them. "Idama _is_ Emma. It's really her. She's alive! And she's... she's..._._" The sentence broke down, and the whole story poured out. Daine listened in silence, her eyes growing wider and wider as he told more of it. When he told how the woman had torn her dress to shreds, she shut her eyes in something close to pain.

"You can never be alone with her again," She said urgently, taking hold of his hand and holding it tightly. "Promise me. She's dangerous. If she makes it look like... well, people will believe her over you."

He nodded. "She made sure you weren't there on purpose tonight. We won't let that happen again."

"I guess it explains why she hates me, too." Daine said vaguely, not quite knowing how she felt about all this. She traced the line of his jaw absently with her fingertips, her thoughts racing. "Numair?"

"Mm?" He looked away from the ceiling to meet her eyes. He was surprised to see that she didn't look upset or angry, but thoughtful. When she spoke it was such an obvious question that Numair was stunned it hadn't occurred to either of them before.

"If that's Emma, then what happened to Idama?"

888

The next day broke in a glory of golden sunlight, the ever-present wind dying down to a pleasant, cooling breeze. The roustabouts were awake before dawn, laughing and teasing each other about their aching heads as they began to set up the carnival. The herald had appeared halfway through their preparations, rubbing his eyes, and had curtly told them that they weren't to set up near the stables. Gods forbid the nobles should be near the plough horses! There was an elegant garden in another courtyard further up the mountain where they should set up.

The men grumbled, but under their breath. They were used to the strange demands of nobles, and they'd not done so very much work. They cursed at having to lug the heavy boarding for the stage through the winding caves, though, and their loud complaints woke up the sleeping players. In a chorus of hungover groans, the circus awoke, and staggered from their beds to find a well and splash their faces with cold water.

Grasmar didn't even bother with that. In a nod to his village upbringing, he headed for the nearest trough and plunged his head straight in. He heard a bright laugh from under the water and surfaced, flinging back sodden locks of hair to see the sky dancer watching him. She had been feeding the horses who they'd stabled nearby, and a few of them were clustered near her, contentedly chewing as she checked their manes for knots.

"Are you feeling better?" Grasmar smiled widely. Daine blinked, and then remembered that last night she had faked being too tired to go to the feast. She smiled and nodded, patting Cloud one last time and silently asking her to watch the other horses. She didn't trust them not to go exploring.

"I spoke to the Lady Idama about you, last night." The man continued, bestowing the Lady's name with all the pomp he possessed. The girl's smile was less wide at that, which he assumed to be natural nervousness at the mention of such an esteemed person. He patted her shoulder in what he falsely believed to be a reassuring gesture. "She was speaking of your performance, my dear. She has heard great things, it seems! She was very insistent that your platform be set up as soon as possible!"

"Perhaps we should wait... for the suspense." The girl corrected herself. Grasmar found himself getting irritated by her nervousness.

"You think you'll fall again? I've seen you climb that thing many times, and only fall once. And the Lady is very kind; she'll applaud even when things go wrong."

Daine gave him a watery smile and agreed, then excused herself to take the horses back to their stalls. The caravan master was left with a vague sense of displeasure, as if he hadn't just singled her out for his express attention. There were many _real _players lucky enough to be so distinguished! Still, he couldn't blame her for finding the Lady intimidating. It was a stupid person who looked into the face of such splendour and didn't feel the need to bow their head a _little_. No, the Lady was nothing like the worryingly informal king, and Grasmar liked her for it. He approved of the display of rank.

He was pleased, then, when he saw the hastily-rigged stage the roustabouts had already completed by the time he'd combed his hair, donned his finest clothes, and shaved. The performance was set to begin at noon, when the garden would be warmed and the plants giving off their delicate summer perfume. The stage included a series of seats for the nobility, covered with sumptuous tented roofs which were so _close _to looking like real silk that people rarely bothered to touch them and feel the rough texture. The cushions, however, were real velvet. He made sure of that. He kept them in his own caravan to ensure that they were properly cared for, and never- _never- _let an undeserving visitor rest against them. He reverently plumped up the crimson cushion on the main seat, and dusted a little pollen from the arm rests.

The nobles started filing in a good half hour before they were supposed to. Grasmar sent a servant running to the caravans, to urge his troupe to move here more quickly. While he waited, neatly dressed in his first costume for the show, he watched the men and women filing into their seats, or lingering in the garden paths. Their dresses, as he'd already noticed the night before, weren't so much out of fashion as a different fashion to that of Corus. Some of it was due to the mountains, he guessed- where people at court were favouring short sleeves and low-cut necklines, the Salydisians were encased in tight, full length sleeves and buttoned up necklines, their cuffs trimmed with fur. In the uncharacteristically warm summer heat some were sweating, but as a whole they were laughing and relaxed. The only real difference was in their choice of colour- despite the increased cost of those kinds of dyes (as the props master kept informing him), most of the assembled people favoured yellow and orange fabrics, and they looked like a crowd of daffodils in the sunlight.

The Lady, when she appeared, was in a dramatically tiger-striped gown with daringly bared arms. Black lines of ribbon criss-crossed on the bodice like a corset, and a bow of the same wide black ribbon adorned the front of the skirt. She acknowledged everyone's greetings with a smile, her painted face pleasant and impassive, and gestured for them to take their seats. Grasmar took a deep breath and nodded at the musicians to start their fanfare, which ended on a nervous split note. The master glared at them, then gritted his teeth and stepped onto the stage.

The performance went down without a hitch. The nobles were delighted to have such a renowned troupe in their midst, and were appropriately impressed. They laughed at the tumblers, gasped at the contortionists, and held their breath when the snake dancer produced her most dangerous looking python, hissing furiously, from its basket. She paused, letting them get a good look at the snake, before wrapping it around her waist and twining her arms in and out of its great loops of tail.

The Lady looked interested, but not fully captivated, throughout. It wasn't until Daine stepped onto the stage, bowing before she climbed the ladder to her platform, that the tigress leaned forward.

"You're the sky dancer?" She asked, her voice high and pleasant. The girl bowed silently, her eyes guarded as she waited for their host to speak her thoughts. The Lady smiled slowly, and gestured to Daine's wrist. Amidst the flamboyant costume it was hard to notice the cord which circled one wrist, and yet the Lady had spotted it straight away. "I see you're wearing a safety cord. Are you still an apprentice?"

Daine blinked and stood up a little straighter, hand straying to the cord. "No ma'am."

"Then you must be a coward!" The Lady made the words sound light, joking, but her eyes were glinting yellow gimlets. "We do not like cowards here. Why should we watch them? If you are not going to perform properly, you should rejoin the other players in the next valley."

The nobles laughed, but their eyes watched the dancer with something close to a hunger. There was no doubt that, under her light words, the Lady was being serious. If she was not happy with one of her guests, then she was perfectly in the right to send them away from her home. Grasmar held his breath, not knowing what the girl might do, and caught himself silently praying to whichever gods were listening that she not offend their patron.

Daine glanced to one side of the stage, met Numair's eyes for a moment, and then quickly looked away. Her mind was clearly made up. She smiled brightly and jumped down from the wooden stage, striding casually towards the seated nobles. When she was a few feet away from the Lady she bowed, still smiling the almost too-friendly smile, and straightened.

"Well?" The Lady drawled. Daine didn't answer. In one swift movement she drew her belt-knife from the recesses of her winged costume. Around the Lady, several nobles shouted out their surprise and backed away. The soldiers who ringed the garden started running over, but before they could do anything the dancer was holding out the knife hilt-first to the Lady with a respectful bow. Her other hand was held out, wrist bared. The skin looked white and defenceless next to the black cord which ringed it.

"I'm not afraid," Daine said clearly, still holding out the knife and her naked wrist. "If your ladyship would kindly cut this cord away, I'll happily dance with death for your amusement."

The Lady's eyes narrowed, and fixed on the girl's placidly smiling face with something close to loathing. Around her, the people were laughing and cheering at the dancer's words, and watching their beloved leader to see how she'd react. The Lady forced herself to smile and took the knife. She moved rapidly with it, stopping barely a breath from the dancer's vulnerable flesh, but the girl didn't even flinch. With gritted teeth, the Lady cut the cord, and held it up for the crowd to see.

"Do you think you're clever?" She hissed under the crowd's cheer. Daine's smile never wavered, but one eyebrow rose.

"Do you?" She replied, taking her belt knife back with easy grace and sheathing it. She turned away and then looked back. "It would be a pity if I fell, wouldn't it? You've been so insistent about putting me in danger that people might wonder if it was truly a coincidence..."

The Lady smiled suddenly, showing teeth. "Then be sure you don't."

"Thank you, Emma. I'll do my best." Daine bowed and returned to the stage. She climbed her ladder more quickly than she normally did, as if she was invincible. She danced with a strange kind of freedom which defied the ground to drag her back to earth.

Grasmar didn't watch. He glanced at the Lady's face and saw such hatred that he stared at her instead, captivated. When the routine ended and the musicians stopped playing, the Lady was the only one who didn't applaud. Her hands tightened in her lap, and her long nails tore the safety cord into shreds.

"Tomorrow." The tiger-striped woman said, bounding to her feet at the end of the applause with a forced smile on her face. "You must perform for us again tomorrow. All of you. I am... I am _very _impressed. And you must have rooms. What was I thinking, making such talented performers stay in wooden caravans? You must stay in our guest quarters and rest. Tomorrow you will show us wonders you only hinted at today." Her eyes sought out the rope dancer's, and the brows raised archly. "_If _you can."

The Lady stalked from the garden before the other nobles had even finished clapping. Behind her, glinting with the orange-yellow of her gift, the mutilated safety cord smouldered into ashes.


	8. Chapter 8: Charmed Memories

Chapter 8: Charmed Memories

"You shouldn't provoke her, you know." Numair said, watching Daine take the elaborate wings off her back and roll her shoulders back, easing the ache. "She might lash out."

"Not in front of them, she won't. They think she's a sweet, perfect noble lady, remember. She has to keep up the illusion as much as we do." Daine's voice was bitter. "How can they be so wrong? She _wanted _me to fall! You could see it in her eyes."

He was silent for a long moment, fiddling with a stray feather that had drifted from a dancer's costume. "I can't help thinking we bring out the worst in her."

Daine spun around to stare at him incredulously, but didn't say anything. She leaned down to pick up Kitten, winning an annoyed squawk as the dragon dropped whatever she'd been playing with. When she looked down, the girl saw it was the silver disk she'd dropped the night before. Both mages had looked for it in their few free minutes that morning, but hadn't been able to find it. Kit pointed under the caravan's storage chest, where a loose floorboard made a recess for dirt and insects.

"Thank you for finding it, Kit." Daine said, smiling. The dragon reached for the charm, and then made a disappointed sound when she realised she wasn't getting it back. Sulking, she wriggled until her adopted mother sighed and put her down. The dragon raised her nose haughtily in the air, and then ran outside to find Cloud.

"Let's see." Numair took the coin from her and studied it intently. A line appeared between his eyes. "I don't recognise this symbol. It's a protection charm- someone's witched it, so it's doing _something, _but I don't know what it does."

"Oh." Daine leaned back against the wall of the caravan, feeling cheated. "If you draw it, I could get a bird to take it back to Corus to ask there?"

"I don't know if they'll know either." He said slowly, turning the symbol so that the silver reflected the light. He looked up, suddenly focused. "Yes, you're right. There's also the books in that antechamber... some of them were magic books I've never come across before. They were strange books, if I'm honest. Well, some of them were. I could try to read them..." He tugged at his nose, and then brightened. "In the meantime, I have an idea."

He took out his belt knife and carefully used it to carve a neat hole in the top of the charm. Asking her to take her pregnancy charm off, he threaded the new charm next to the old, where they looked almost identical. Daine latched the chain back around her neck slowly, not at all sure if she wanted to wear an unknown spell.

"They won't... cancel each other out, or anything, will they?" She asked. Numair shook his head, unable to resist picking up the charm a second time and scrutinising it. Daine rolled her eyes and stood still. "Well, fantastic." She muttered. He ignored her, so she folded her arms and tried to think about what she was going to do to impress the Lady tomorrow. She had no doubt that the same trick would be played on her, so it would need to be something that looked dangerous. She let her mind wander back to things she'd tried before, remembering what had made the crowd gasp.

Falling...

_My foot wobbled, and for a second my heart leapt into my throat, and the wind caught me, and I didn't fall. _

_I fell... _

She gasped and opened her eyes, a familiar iciness spreading through her head. She raised her hand and tangled her fingertips in her chain, finding the new charm as icy as her mind. But it wasn't attacking her; it wasn't stealing the memories... it was _giving them back. _

_I remember..._

_I fell. _

_But before that... _

She realised she was speaking out loud, every thought that crossed her mind as they crystallised into achingly vibrant images. She remembered the sharp pain of her wrist as it snapped, and clutched the joint protectively. She remembered the coldness of the wind on that day, and shivered. And she remembered...

_Before all of that... _

_There was..._

_I can see you. _

_A strange, distant voice. The voice of the wind. There was no-one to speak up on the rope, so close to the sky. I thought it was one of the People, at first. Perhaps a bird. But they don't speak like that. They have a colour, and this had a colour of its own. A golden glow, not bronze. _

"Was it human?" The voice broke through her thoughts, patient and comforting, leading her through her memories.

_Maybe. I didn't ask it. I didn't think it was real. And it said, "I can see you." I was near the middle of the rope, then, and it said, "Stop walking, I don't like it." And I stopped. _

"Why?"

_It asked me to, and when I refused it... I don't know how to describe it. It _made _me. My legs stopped moving. I couldn't do anything about it. It said it wanted me to move back to the platform, but it didn't know how to make me do that, so instead it made me be still. _

_I remember the way the snow tasted on the air, because all I could do was raise my arms and listen to the voice as it chatted away, and feel the wind on my face as it pushed me off balance. I remember that it was cold. The voice told me it could see me again, and asked if I was human, with my wings. I said I was. It kept talking, and the whole time my legs were frozen, and the wind blew, and I couldn't even shift to keep my footing. _

"_Let me walk!" I told the voice, interrupting the chatter in my desperation. "I'll fall!"_

_The voice... the voice sounded sulky, and then petulant. The chatter kept going, and I knew the next strong gust of wind would make me fall. So I shouted at it, demanded that it release me. _

"_You want to walk?" The voice said, "Fine. Walk." And without any thought from me, my frozen legs took a great step off the rope, and I fell. _

_I fell. I remember falling. _

Daine blinked a few times, memories fading from her eyes like sunspots. She unwrapped her fingers from around her wrist, knowing that it wasn't really hurting, and the memory of it faded slowly into a normal recollection.

"I climbed that day because I could see this fort from the top of the rope." She said, her voice tired. "I remember now. I wanted to see what we were getting in to, so I climbed up thinking I'd be able to see."

"So anyone in the castle could have seen you back." Numair said, and breathed out heavily. Now she could see again she noticed that he'd gone pale. "I'm sorry, Daine, I didn't know that would happen. Are you okay?"

"Fine." She shook her wrist out and reached up to the charm. "Do you want to wear it? You might remember what happened, too."

He caught her hand, stopping her from unclasping the chain. "No, you keep it. I'd far rather you didn't go walking off another tightrope than have a few of my memories back."

"I'll get you another one tonight, then." Daine promised. "After dinner."

He smiled. "I'm coming with you this time. I'm _very _interested to see this room!" He paused when he heard the creak of the other caravans moving away, and his mood sobered. "That is, if our guest quarters aren't locked and barred."

"She wants to see what we'll do." Daine stood up, crossing the caravan to fetch the horses. She turned in the doorway, tapping the frame absently with her nails. "We won't be guarded. We'll be watched. Not just in secret – everything we do. The shows, the banquets, everything."

Numair grinned. "Then let's give them something to see."

888

Emma swung her feet peevishly against the high legs of her chair and resisted the urge to chew on one of her nails, the bored childhood habit which had made her mother despair. She greeted the players as they filed into the room with genuine affection, remembering some of them from past shows and wondering what the new faces would surprise her with. She spent so much of her life performing that she loved to see it done well. These people didn't know how lucky they were, to be able to _act _but say to their audience, in no mixed words, that it was all pretend. They lived two lives and were proud to boast of it. She envied them almost as much as she loved their skills.

"_I hate pretending!" She winced now to remember the pure hatred in her voice. When she was younger time seemed endless, and her mother seemed immortal. She didn't think that she might remember her mother's pain-crossed face as if it had stabbed her in the heart. She remembered the same face looking calm, peaceful, unconcerned... only once. The healers had made it so, as they moved her mother in her casket in the family crypt. Emma remembered that the dead creature in the marble box had looked nothing like her mother. For weeks afterwards she could barely believe that she was dead. _

_But that argument... ah, it had been harsh, bitter as bile. The players were visiting the next town, and Emma had dressed that morning in her finest clothes, ready to dance with the townsfolk and enjoy the festival as the troupe processed into the square. She looked forward to it every year. And her mother had refused for the first time. Not now. Not at Beltane, not with the noble visitors watching. Lord Salydis might have greying sideburns and aged patches on his hands, but his eyes were as sharp as they'd ever been. They'd lived out their home life in a mockery of its usual horror, and this time... __this __time, nothing had gone wrong. Lady Lon dared to smile, dared to hope that this man was not to be scared away. _

_Emma rose every morning to be fussed over and pampered, all to sit in dreary rooms with an old man whose rheumy yellow eyes drifted downwards from her face at every chance. She smiled and bore it, thinking of the arrival of the players whenever she couldn't look cheerful, and daydreaming about the new stories they would perform when his rambling anecdotes made her want to scream. She bore it. And then when her mother said she couldn't go to the festival she snapped. _

_She couldn't remember the words now, but the way she'd screamed them... yes, that was crystal clear. And the way she'd run off, barely noticing the hot tears streaming from her eyes as she fled through the halls. She'd had to hide in an alleyway until the tears stopped; she could remember the dust which stuck to her face and stung when she scrubbed angrily at it. And then she'd gone to the festival, after all that, with her eyes over-bright and her dress crumpled, laughing too loudly at the jokes and gasping even when the tricks didn't shock her. She was so determined to enjoy herself that she never realised that she wasn't. _

_And then, with her senses so sharpened, she'd caught the man trying to pick her pocket. His fingers were delicately teasing her handkerchief from her belt when she caught his wrist, feeling the tendons in his wrist jump as he flinched. _

"_Why aren't you taking my __money__?" She'd said in a low voice, finding the first real humour in the day at his horrified expression. He blinked, smiled fleetingly and tried to bow, finding the movement difficult with her strong fingers still wrapped around his arm. _

"_It's for a trick." He whispered back, leaning in closer so no-one could overhear. She raised an eyebrow in disbelief and he laughed. "No, really. It will magically fly from your pocket to the stage, and then when you come to collect it from me I get to kiss the hand of the prettiest girl in my audience."_

_She blushed but still didn't let go of his hand. The warm pulse under her fingertips seemed to root her to the real world, to a place where, today, she didn't have to pretend. He didn't move but watched her levelly, waiting for her to make a decision. Emma decided that she didn't care if this man was lying. It was only a handkerchief, and she had many. She smiled and held out the piece of embroidered cloth with her free hand. _

"_I look forward to reclaiming it." She whispered. _

_What else did she remember? She had barely heard the crowd's applause when she'd stepped onto the stage. The wooden boards creaked under her feet and she could feel the sun-warmed wood through her thin dress-shoes. The pickpocket's dark eyes were laughing, sharing the joke with her in secret even as the audience wondered how he'd done it. And she pretended to be amazed as well. Sharing a lie had a dark thrill to it that she'd never felt with Lord Salydis. He was happy to be lied to; she revelled in the truth. _

_Her mother did not scream the next morning. The light slanted through the windows at exactly the same angle as the day before, but her mother's eyes were cold and dead. She looked at her daughter as if she were a stranger, taking in the casually retied corset and the hopelessly tangled hair, and had simply shrugged. No words were spoken for the whole week. Emma ruined herself with joyful abandon, feeling like an adult for the first time in her life as the heat of each tryst drew her further away from her family. And yet, still, they said nothing. _

_Apart from Idama. But that was a different story. _

"Liar." She whispered to herself, and didn't know if she meant herself, or the pickpocket, or even her mother. The word was as true as its denotation was not: Everyone was a liar. That was how the world worked.

She smiled and knew that her own lie was enacted in every lift of her eyes into the semblance of happiness. She was not happy. She was a liar. And she was in good company.

The pickpocket and the skydancer stepped into the hall, their eyes clear and wary. Looking for the lies. Looking for the truth. Let them search. The world was so swamped in lies that even the great Lady Salydis could not escape. The truth had flown from her life years ago. Emma's smile faded, and she raised her eyes to the gods in the first earnest prayer of her adult life.

_Let them find it. Please. _

888


End file.
